by Danice Allen
At forty years of age, the only thing that had changed in Alexander Wickham’s appearance since they were wed was the devastatingly handsome addition of silver at his temples. His figure was still as splendid, still as strong and muscled and slim. His eyes were still as black as India ink and as hypnotizing to Beth’s senses as an opiate.
An ebony brow winged upward. “I hope I’m deciphering that expression on your face correctly, my Beth. Do you find me as fetching as I find you?”
Alex shut the door behind him and crossed the blue and beige Aubusson rug to stand behind Beth at the dressing table. With his long, slender fingers curled around the bulbous carvings at the back of the chair, he bent and positioned his head just next to hers as they both looked into the mirror.
“I’m glad you wore green,” he whispered close to her ear. “So festive a color. And now we match. But best of all, it makes your skin look so creamy and so … kissable.” Alex dropped his head to place a lingering kiss on the slight swell of bosom that peeked above the white lace ruching of her gown.
Beth lifted her hand to thread eager fingers through the silky thickness of his black hair. Her voice was breathless as she said, “You rogue! Must you tease me so? You know the children are awaiting us in the drawing room, and dinner must not be late tonight, or Cook will blame us if the goose is dry.”
Alex lifted his head, his face flushed and tender. “I don’t care a whit about juicy goose when I’ve the most delectable little gosling right here to enjoy.”
“Pooh!” Beth said with a laugh.
Alex smiled, kissed her soundly on the cheek, and straightened to his full imposing height. Then he walked to the window and stared out into the early evening shadows, just as Beth had done. “Besides,” he said, “the guest of honor isn’t here, and I’m afraid the children won’t have an appetite to eat until he arrives.”
“Only the children?” Beth suggested archly.
Alex flashed her a sheepish look. “Well, I admit to being a little worried, too. This is a damnable night to be traveling. I hope he’s not stuck in a snowbank somewhere.”
“Zach is two and thirty, Alex,” said Beth, “and quite a capable man. I believe that if he thinks himself unable to make it here safely tonight, he will stop at an inn. You and the children will just have to be patient and wait to see him on the morrow.”
“That sort of reasoning might be helpful to ease an adult mind, but the children will be disappointed,” Alex returned.
“I know they will,” Beth agreed. “We must keep them occupied with parlor games. Jason loves to play Going to Jerusalem.”
“That’s because Jason always wins,” Alex remarked with a hint of fatherly pride. “A quick one, that boy.”
“The image of his father in every way,” Beth said, grinning.
Alex’s chest swelled perceptibly, and then he noticed Beth’s impish expression. “You’re roasting me,” he accused.
“Not a bit, love,” she assured him demurely, patting at her curls. But when she caught the mischievous glint in her husband’s black eyes, Beth braced herself. Such a look was usually followed by some prank, like a pillow fight or passionate lovemaking. She knew they hadn’t time for either, but if she had a choice….
“Mama? Papa? Are you in there? May we come in?”
Beth let loose the breath she’d been holding and threw her husband a sly look. “Saved by Providence. Thanks to our children, we’ll have tender goose tonight.”
“And I will still have gosling later,” he warned her.
Beth laughed and called, “Come in, children!”
In walked the Wickham children all in a row with Torie heading the queue, and with the devoted aging Shadow following spryly behind.
Torie was still small for her age, but with a needle-sharp intelligence and self-assured demeanor that made her seem much older. Coupled with these adult characteristics was an infectious enthusiasm that made her a sheer delight to be around. While her adventurous curiosity had led Jason and Cecily into many a scrape, she had also taught them to beg forgiveness with such angelic sincerity that they seldom received very harsh punishments from Miss Brynne or Dudley.
Torie was lovely, too, in an exotic sort of way. Beth recognized Tessy’s delicate features in Torie’s face, but the golden eyes and the unbiddable expression that twinkled there had definitely come from Zach.
Jason was eight and was, as Beth had said, the image of his father, whom he frankly adored. He was already taller than Torie, though she was nearly two years older. He was very slender—almost wiry-thin—but as sturdy as a battering ram, an analogy that Beth thought suited him well since he was frequently running into things. He was all boy, that was a certainty, but sensitive, too, having a strong protective tendency toward his sisters. This was demonstrated most forcefully when he planted a facer on the vicar’s son when the rude child was so unwise as to call Cecily a pudding face.
Cecily, at four, was the baby. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed like Jason but had her mother’s milky complexion. To sum up Cecily would have been to say she was a happy child, for Cecily never cried. She followed her beloved older sister and brother around like a devoted pet, taking part in all their activities with sweetly optimistic eagerness.
Still padded with baby fat, Cecily was eminently huggable and was constantly being drawn onto someone’s lap for just that purpose. She sucked her thumb, a habit Miss Brynne and Dudley were constantly trying to curtail by some process or other, which processes Miss Brynne and Dudley were seldom in agreement upon.
The girls were dressed in pretty green gowns, identical miniature versions of their mama’s. Jason was outfitted like his papa, but in short pants. Most festive of all, their faces were wreathed in smiles.
Alex sat down in a wing chair next to the dressing table, and Cecily immediately took possession of his lap, snuggled her head against the silky smoothness of his vest, and placed one chubby hand against his cheek. The other hand was occupied with supplying herself with a thumb to suck. Torie and Jason stood at attention, like soldiers at review, waiting for permission to speak.
“Well, children, what is it?” prompted Beth. “You look as though you might burst with this news, whatever it is. It must be something quite remarkable if you could not wait till Papa and I joined you in the drawing room.”
“He came across Blindley Heath,” Jason burst out as Torie opened her mouth to speak. “He said the roads were all mucked up, so he left his team in Godstone and crossed the heath on horseback t’ get here in time for dinner. A real bruiser in the saddle is our uncle Zach. Almost as good as Papa,” Jason finished proudly.
“Zach is here?” Beth exchanged a relieved, delighted look with Alex.
“Yes, Uncle Zachary has come,” Torie said sedately, obviously trying very hard not to look as childishly eager as her brother. “He said you must hurry and join him in the drawing room. He has some important news to tell you.”
“Oh?” Alex looked surprised. “Is it good news or bad news?”
Torie’s mouth twisted in an expression of perplexity. “I’m not sure, Papa. He didn’t say. But as he was taking off his wet boots in the entrance hall, he muttered something about a letter from Aunt Gabby and that she’s flung herself into the briars again. What do you think he meant by that?”
Beth and Alex exchanged another look that was anything but delighted. “I don’t know, Torie,” said Alex, standing and hiking Cecily up to rest her on his hip. “But we shall find out. Did Zach go to his chamber to change clothes?”
“Yes,” said Torie, glad to be able to offer information where she could. “But he said he would change in the twinkling of a bedpost and that you must come downstairs at once because he’d probably be waiting for you.”
Alex and Beth were happy to comply, since they were exceedingly curious about Gabby’s latest misadventure. Since Beth and Alex had married, they had been receiving letters from Brookmoor that frequently included Mrs. Tavistock’s fretful descriptions of Gabb
y’s antics. Most of Gabby’s scrapes were fairly minor and fixable, such as the time she and her cousin locked themselves in the pantry and got bosky on the cooking wine. But sometimes—such as the day she put a pollywog in the vicar’s tea and he nearly choked to death—the consequences of her actions were quite embarrassing and long-lasting. Vicar Bradford still had not forgiven the Tavistocks for the pollywog incident, though Gabby was only ten when it occurred.
The last Beth had heard from her mother, Gabrielle was visiting a chum in Edinburgh. Due to poor health, her mother had not accompanied Gabby on this trip, but trusted her to the care of her aunt Clarissa.
Clarissa was a dear lady, but hardly the stiff-rumped, ferret-nosed, eagle-eyed sort of dragon one could wish for in a chaperon, especially for a high-spirited young woman like Gabby. Beth had worried about Aunt Clarissa’s chaperonage but was hoping that the Murray family in Edinburgh would be watchful and wise enough to make up for her aunt’s deficiencies.
At nineteen years of age, having already enjoyed her come-out last spring, turned down several suitors for her hand, and been chastised for being too persnickety, Gabby had probably been eager to go to Scotland to escape Brookmoor Manor and a winter of recriminations from her mama. But what trouble had she attracted this time?
They entered the drawing room, which was festooned with fir boughs and smelled of warm wax and hot apple punch. There, toasting his backside at the briskly burning fire, was Zach. He was still tall, still lean, still a golden Adonis in buckskin breeches and a black coat, but the faint lines that stretched from his straight nose to the corners of his mouth bespoke a wisdom and maturity earned the hard way. Today his expression was troubled, annoyed. Yes, Gabby had done something to put him in a twit. They embraced and exchanged greetings, but they were somewhat subdued because of the tension that hung about Zach like a thundercloud.
“Dudley says I must send all you children to the kitchen,” Zach said presently, bending down to straighten Jason’s cravat, tweak Cecily on the nose, and run a tender finger along Torie’s cheek.
“But we don’t want to go to the kitchen, Uncle Zachary,” Torie complained with a beseeching look at him from under her thick golden eyelashes. “You’ve only just come, and we want to visit with you.”
“I promise we shall spend time visiting, Torie,” Zach soothed in a hushed voice, cupping her shoulder and looking lovingly into her eyes. “But I must speak to your mother and father, and I don’t want …” He inclined his head just slightly to indicate the other children. He winked conspiratorially. “Well, you know.”
Torie beamed with pride. “Oh, I understand, Uncle Zachary. The conversation will not be suitable for children, I see. Come, Jason and Cecily. I believe Dudley’s got some berry tarts in the kitchen for us. Perhaps after dinner we shall have a game of puss in the corner.”
In this way the children were dispatched, Torie feeling quite grown up, Jason’s mouth watering at the mention of tarts, and Cecily looking forward to the promised parlor game of puss in the corner. When they were gone, Alex and Beth sat down on a sofa together and waited for Zach to speak.
“I can’t sit down yet,” Zach apologized. “I’m too cold and too upset.”
“Good God, what’s she done this time?” said Alex. “Is it so very bad?”
“It’s bad enough that I must not stay and keep the holidays with you,” Zach grumbled, “but must hie myself back to Godstone in the morning, then on to London to change horses and head for the border. I got a letter from Gabby yesterday, as did your mother. She’s betrothed!”
“Betrothed?” Beth sat up and looked keenly at her brother-in-law. “I admit I’m surprised, but a betrothal is generally held to be good news, Zach. Why are you so upset? Is there something objectionable about the gentleman?”
“Rumor has it he’s a gambler and a rake,” Zach said disgustedly.
“Men of bad reputation have been known to reform,” said Alex, sliding a sly look toward Beth.
“We—her own family—don’t know this man from Adam. And you know how I feel about Aunt Clarissa’s judgment. I rue the day I allowed your mother to send Gabby away with that buffle-headed sister of hers. Beg your pardon, Beth, but your aunt Clarissa hasn’t the sense of a babe.”
“I’m sure Mother expected the Murray family, whom she met and became well acquainted with in London, to make up for Aunt Clarissa’s shortcomings,” Beth soothed. “And Aunt Clarissa’s not so bad as that, Zach. What do the Murrays say about the match? Have they written to Mama?”
“Yes, they wrote,” Zach said gruffly. “Before you ask me, yes, they do approve of Gabby’s choice. Their opinion seems to be all that your mother requires to be totally enamored of the fellow, though she’s never met him!”
“But she will, of course,” said Alex, eyeing his brother with interest. “A betrothal is not a marriage. There is time for all of us to meet him. Who is he?”
“His name is Rory Cameron, Marquess of Lome. He has a castle in Perthshire.”
“I’ve heard of the family,” said Alex, rubbing his chin. “The late marquess was quite respectable. I have heard, though, that the present marquess is a bit wild.”
“But what privileged, titled, rich young man isn’t described in such a way in this day and age?” Beth countered optimistically. “Besides, as Alex said, we’ll have an opportunity to meet the marquess before Gabby marries him. Then, if we discover he is unsuitable—”
“I hope to God we get a chance to meet him,” Zach interrupted with an exasperated hiss of breath. “In Scotland all a body needs to do to tie the nuptial knot is exchange vows in the presence of two witnesses. No publishing of banns is required by law. If Gabby is really besotted with the fellow, she might marry him before any of us has had a chance to form an opinion and counsel the girl. The letter I got from Gabby reveals her to be in a most alarming condition of complete infatuation. What if he’s gambled himself into a state of genteel poverty and is after Gabby’s inheritance?”
“Calm down, Zach,” Alex said. “Gabby may attract trouble, and she may be too curious for her own good, but she’s not stupid or likely to be bamboozled easily by an opportunistic marquess with pockets to let. Give the girl a little credit. I’ll wager she’s being more sensible about this relationship than you suspect. In her letter she probably used exaggerated romantical terms that appealed to her sense of the dramatic.”
“Well, I don’t think my concern is unwarranted,” Zach returned rather petulantly. “In any case, since Mrs. Tavistock is still too unwell for such an arduous journey, and you and Beth are busy with family matters, it seems most practical for me to go up to Scotland and meet the fellow. You know, make sure he’s right for Gabby.” Zach paced back and forth in front of the fireplace and ran lean fingers through his golden hair till it stood on end. “Can’t let the girl make a mistake she’ll suffer from her entire life,” he muttered. “Pollywogs in the vicar’s tea is one thing, but matrimony is quite another!”
Beth and Alex exchanged meaningful glances. Then Alex cleared his throat and addressed Zach in a carefully measured tone. “You couldn’t be more right about that, Zach. Matrimony is serious business. Beth and I often wondered when Gabby would take the plunge. She’s had plenty of opportunities. If she truly wants to marry this Rory Cameron, I hope he is an honorable, worthy man. If he isn’t, we’ll have something to say about it. But it strikes me, Zach”—Alex shifted slightly in his seat—“that you seem as troubled by the fact that Gabby’s finally consented to a proposal of marriage as you are by the slim possibility that the fellow might be a scoundrel.”
Beth’s eyes were riveted to Zach. Alex was implying that Zach had feelings for Gabrielle that transcended brotherly interest. She and Alex had sometimes suspected—in fact, they’d hoped—that Beth’s beautiful little sister could heal Zach’s wounded heart, a heart that still suffered ten years after Tessy’s death. But they’d never discerned a loverlike manner in Zach toward Gabby, though they sometimes speculated that
Gabby might have feelings for Zach that could explain her lack of interest in the dashing beaux who groveled at her feet during the London Season. But the way Zach was acting today …
“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Alex.”
“Yes, you are,” Alex stated flatly.
“How I feel about Gabrielle is irrelevant,” Zach snapped. “The girl needs watching after. I only want to make sure she’s thought this marriage business through. Does she even realize how far away from the rest of us she’ll be clear up in Perthshire, Scotland?”
Zach turned his back to them to prop his hands against the mantelpiece and hang his head between his shoulders. Alex and Beth exchanged another look rife with meaning.
When Zach did not move for several moments, Beth stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Gabby is so lucky to have a friend like you, Zach. We’re glad you’re going to Scotland to meet her betrothed. I’m sure she would wish for your approval most of all. If you can be easy about the marquess after you’ve met him, the rest of us will be satisfied that all is well.”
Zach lifted a hand to place over Beth’s. “Thank you, Beth,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that Gabby doesn’t make a dreadful mistake. I could not bear to think of her being unhappy.”
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, though it was probably obvious, at least to Torie, that the adults were preoccupied. When Zach had retired to his room and the children were tucked into bed, Alex and Beth stood at her bedchamber window and looked out over the countryside. It had quit snowing during dinner, and they could hope that Zach would have a comfortable ride back to Godstone in the morning.
Beth leaned back into Alex’s chest, his arms clasping her close to him, her head nestled in the hollow of his throat. “I wish him godspeed,” she said. “I wonder how long it will take him to realize he’s in love with Gabby? And once he’s realized it, will he admit to it?”
