After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  A few moments later Dr. Craig again picked up the boy and carried him away, presumably to his home. The crowd began to murmur and disperse, but some of their party heard them say the child was still alive, and others were amazed by Dr. Craig’s bravery. Their party gathered and walked back to the town house in silence. All Christelle could think was that Seamus was making a mistake in giving up medicine.

  The women returned to Yardley Court following the eventful walk in the park, as the men escorted the mother and child to their home. Beaujolais had word that the musical evening they were to attend had been cancelled due to an illness. Christelle was not the only one who sighed with relief. She was still trembling from watching Dr. Craig throw himself at the out of control horses and then holding the unconscious boy in his arms.

  “A quiet evening at home would be very welcome,” Charlotte said as she pulled off her bonnet. Christelle held her tongue and did not point out she had only had to endure a few days of the Season.

  “I think we should allow the children to join us, this evening,” Beaujolais announced.

  “Yes, this afternoon gave us all a fright. It could have been any one of our brood,” Anjou agreed.

  “I do hope the boy will not come to permanent harm,” Margaux said.

  “Either way, I will be hearing that poor mother’s screams for some time,” Maili added.

  “Yes, as if Lady Gordon had not been through enough grief to last a lifetime.”

  “I do hope Seamus is unharmed as well. It was a brave thing he did, but he could have been killed.” Charlotte voiced what Christelle was thinking.

  “Will the men return soon with word?” she asked.

  “I expect Yardley and Harris back soon. They were escorting the mother home while Gavin and Seamus attended to the boy,” Beaujolais said.

  “We should all rest and settle our nerves for a little while before dinner. Hopefully, they will return by then with good news,” Margaux suggested.

  “I think hugging my children is in order, as well,” Anjou said, beginning to head to the nursery.

  The others went their separate ways, but Christelle lingered. Beaujolais stopped and turned to her.

  “Forgive me, Christelle. I have not been attentive to you. Do you have a few moments to spare, or would you prefer to rest?”

  “You need not feel burdened by me,” Christelle said honestly. “I have no expectations.”

  “But you deserve better. My delicate situation should not be an excuse. I have allowed others to do what I should be doing.”

  “I have not known any different. With Maili also out this Season, I have hardly been neglected.”

  Beaujolais sat down. She looked exhausted, and Christelle felt for her.

  “But I truly wish to do right by you, and to be your friend. Has any particular gentleman caught your eye? I know your father has said he will not give you up this Season, but he also mentioned Cavenray was paying you marked attention.”

  Should she be honest?

  “He has certainly been much in evidence wherever we are. I am not convinced he is paying me any more mind then Maili, although I suspect it is his way. There is safety in numbers.”

  Beaujolais laughed. “Yes, he is not overly demonstrative. What of Sir Anthony and Lord Weston? They are often of the court surrounding the two of you.”

  “Both are very agreeable gentleman,” Christelle answered carefully, though her heart longed to shout out that she wanted none other than Dr. Craig. How would the family react?

  “But none of them take your fancy, do they?” While Beaujolais asked the question rhetorically, she seemed to assess the situation with considerable accuracy.

  Christelle shook her head demurely.

  “Fortunately, you will not be pressed to decide. Take your time and enjoy this Season... and please know my door is always open. Always.”

  “Merci.” Christelle smiled.

  The door closed behind Christelle, and then Lady Ashbury walked into the parlour and took a seat adjacent to her daughter.

  “You do realize which way the wind blows, do you not?” She cast a sidelong glance at her daughter.

  “Of course I do, and so do my sisters.”

  “You should have seen them waltz together, chérie.”

  “A young lady's first waltz always causes her to fall in love with the gentleman. Wait until she has another partner.”

  “Non. I believe her heart is constant. She is different from most girls.”

  Beaujolais put her hands to her temples. “Could she not choose someone a little more eligible? Someone who at least owns some property with which to house a bride? Not to say that Seamus is not a dear. Perhaps I underestimate his fortune.”

  “I do not think Christelle cares if she has a house or not. She only wants him. I quite admire her for it, even if it is not sensible.”

  “Yes, she seems quite determined about him.”

  “Will you tell Yardley?” Lady Ashbury asked.

  “Heavens, no. I do not believe he would appreciate my doing so. Besides, many things can happen in a Season.”

  “Tut-tut. You are a coward, ma fille. There was a time when you relished a heated exchange with your husband.”

  “But I have learned to choose my battles wisely.”

  After dinner, the men gathered for a drink in the study. Seamus was sore and exhausted, wanting to retire for the night and partake of a hot bath. But Yardley had asked him to join them. The Gordon boy had slowly regained consciousness, and Seamus and Gavin had left him with his mother, hopeful for a good outcome if he made it through the night.

  Seamus had suffered through dinner. He had watched Christelle looking forlorn and toying with her food, desperately wanting to gather her in his arms and declare himself in front of everyone. For some reason, he realized, when a person had experienced a life-threatening event, the fog then lifted and they could see clearly. It was not that he had not known he wanted her or that he loved her, but he had had to do what was best for her. He had determined that he must allow Christelle to have her Season without his interference, believing she might very well change her mind once she came into her own as a Duke’s daughter. If not, he would still be in the background, waiting.

  He was happy she had found her family, but the selfish side of him felt he had already lost her. He would not be good enough. He knew her father would press for a titled marriage and he understood.

  If only they could talk as they had before. It was deuced hard to find five minutes alone with her.

  “Cavenray asked me permission to pay his addresses,” Yardley announced, bringing Seamus back to the present.

  “An excellent match,” Harris remarked placidly.

  “I told him he would have to convince her. I can find no fault with him, so I gave him my blessing,” Yardley informed them thoughtfully over his glass of brandy.

  “Quite the recommendation,” Gavin mused.

  “One could wish he displayed a mite more personality,” Yardley conceded.

  Seamus almost choked on his drink.

  “What of your news, Harris? Have you been able to place Cole?”

  “I am confident I have transported him a time or two—although without the queer moustache. I have nothing incriminating to say about him, but I would swear he did not use the name Cole then.”

  “Keep thinking. As long as the man is hovering around my daughter, I want to know everything about him.”

  “Has anyone shown any interest in Maili, Gavin?”

  “No one has asked for her hand, as yet. Maili is difficult to read. She seems to enjoy the company of whomever is in front of her at the time.”

  “All will become apparent before long; the Season is still young, yet. At any rate, both girls seem to have taken well.”

  “With the men, anyway,” Harris teased, to the obvious annoyance of his father and Yardley, Seamus noted.

  “Lady Gordon seemed quite pleased with you, Seamus. I do hope the boy recovers. There might
be some hope for you in that quarter,” Yardley remarked.

  Seamus looked up from his glass. “Lady Gordon?”

  “Did you not recognize she was flirting with you when the boy was off larking with the greys?” Harris added.

  “I suppose my mind was elsewhere.” He frowned. He had noticed Christelle looking at him—no, glaring at him—while he was talking to the woman. Was that why? The thought filled him with hope.

  “She has certainly never talked to me that way—or looked at me with that kind of smile,” Harris teased.

  “And at her home, after you rescued her son, she was throwing herself at you.”

  “You merely mistake affection for grief. It is normal for those in shock to attach themselves in such a manner to their trusted physician,” Seamus explained.

  The men all exchanged glances and burst into laughter.

  “What did I say?”

  “Poor Seamus. I do think you believe what you just said.”

  “Aye, it will only get worse, my son. Now you will be a hero in the eyes of the ton. Even the King was riding in the park today.”

  “Our dear Majesty loves to knight people for their heroics. The next thing you know, you will be summoned to kneel before him.”

  “Now, who is being ridiculous?” Seamus cast his eyes upward.

  “Perhaps I should put the notion in his ear. I still owe you a debt,” Yardley contemplated.

  “Stuff and nonsense, sir. I would beg you be serious.”

  “Very well, but I will find a way to show you my gratitude one day.”

  “I did not help her only then to be repaid, and I do not help you now for any reasons other than assisting my family. It has been good to me. It is I who owe a debt of gratitude.” Nonetheless, perhaps those things would count in his favour one day.

  “You are a true gentleman, Seamus.

  Chapter 22

  Even Christelle was enchanted by the sounds of the evening in Vauxhall. It was a warm night as they rowed along the Thames and summer could almost be smelled in the air. The ladies had dressed with a bit more flair—feeling daring for the whimsical night.

  Christelle had selected a flowing floral gown of white with bright tangerine flowers and only a hint of fabric to cover her upper arms. Maili had chosen the gown that shimmered, hoping the fireworks would cause it to shine.

  Vauxhall was a beautiful garden, with pathways lined by trees, flowers and hanging lanterns. Water could be heard trickling from fountains and there was soothing music echoing in the background. It was magical indeed. The crowd had come out en masse in the warm evening. Christelle had listened half-heartedly to the warnings about all sorts of classes intermingling there. It was part of the novelty, yet part of the danger. She worried not, since she had been part of both classes.

  A box had been reserved for their party and they were seated around a table. Waiters quickly served sandwiches of shaved ham, cheesecakes and arrack punch.

  Maili had discoursed all day long about which handsome gentleman she could steal a kiss from on one of the dark walks. It did not seem to matter whom, so long as she experienced her first embrace.

  Christelle would be very happy with a simple waltz with her preferred gentleman.

  Instead, another asked her.

  “Lady Christelle, would you do me the honour of waltzing with me?”

  It took all of her strength not to look over to Dr. Craig. She smiled kindly at the Duke and took his offered arm, resolving to enjoy herself.

  Cavenray took her right hand and placed his left on her back, and she tried to feel sensation from it. He was handsome, after all, and her father approved. Should she try to open her mind?

  The music began, and he was eloquent, moving her seamlessly through the steps and twirls without her giving any thought to her own movements.

  Surrounded by the scent of floral blossoms, she thought if she closed her eyes she could convince herself she was in heaven. It was the fairy-tale she had dreamed of long ago as she had lain on her bed in the tiny attic room at Harriot's, one where her parents were together and they were a happy family.

  Christelle found she was enjoying herself. There was beautiful music, but the dance was…simply a dance. There was not the magic she had felt with Dr. Craig.

  She was taken back to the time she had danced with him in the ballroom at Yardley; back to before she had understood what Society was about, and before she had understood about dynastic marriages. When she had fallen in love with her heart.

  Society believed love had no place in a marriage. Could she marry this man dancing with her? He treated her well, even if he was a dull conversationalist.

  Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

  When the waltz with Cavenray ended, Mr. Cole appeared in front of them before the Duke could return her to the box.

  “May I have the next dance?” he asked.

  She hesitated. He was behaving in an ungentlemanly fashion again. It really was too bad of him to constantly force her to choose like this. Nevertheless, Cavenray bowed and was walking away before she could make up her mind.

  The dance began and Cole took her arm, but instead, he drew her away from the dancing. “I think a stroll on a lovely evening would be just the thing.”

  “Sir, I cannot leave without informing my parents first.” She stopped in protest.

  “You will come to no harm on my arm,” he assured. “Only a short stroll. I have something important to say to you that requires a modicum of privacy.”

  “A very short walk, then,” she conceded, but when he kept moving farther away from the dancing and her party without speaking, she grew concerned. “Sir, please turn back at once. I must insist!” She planted her feet on the ground, but he kept pulling her forward.

  “Do not be gauche. Everyone walks about here. It is what Vauxhall is for.”

  He was pulling her away without being obvious—that is, if anyone was looking. She considered screaming, but perhaps he was genuine in his need to speak with her. If everyone had not made her so suspicious of him! He was walking and pulling her arm so hard, she could barely keep up. When they reached a small alcove of trees, she grabbed on to a slender trunk and held tight.

  “You will force me no further or I will scream. Speak your words now.”

  When Seamus realized Christelle was no longer dancing with Cavenray and had not returned with the Duke, he froze for a split second and panicked before turning and looking about him. It was one advantage of his height. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen. He began to shoulder and elbow his way through the crowds of people. If he was having to do so, he hoped she could not have gone far. He cursed Yardley for putting this mistrust into his mind about a very likely harmless Mr. Cole.

  On the other hand, Cole did seem to be a social mushroom and would gain a substantial amount from compromising Lady Christelle. With renewed but controlled panic, Seamus cleared a pathway for himself with zeal. There was a fork in the walk; which way should he go? Surely she would not have gone alone?

  He chose the rightward path, but only met with couples locked in embarrassing embraces. He hurried back to the fork and choose the left path.

  “Maili!” He found the wrong girl, but the right one all the same.

  She giggled, the horrid girl.

  He could not see the gentleman whom she was kissing. “Go back and find Yardley, Christelle is missing,” he ordered. “I will deal with you later.”

  He hurried on as he searched for the elusive white dress with tangerine flowers. He realized with horror he was heading toward the gate that led to the river entrance.

  Then, he could hear her voice but he could not find her. His worst fears were realized.

  “Let go of me, I will not go with you,” she was exclaiming. “You tricked me!”

  “Yes, I admit to that. How else was I to pry you away from your jailers? You see, there is something you must know and none of them will tell you.”

  Seamus continued to creep ar
ound so he would not be discovered. If he could just find the path to her…he knew he was close.

  “I cannot fathom anything so important it warrants an abduction,” she said dryly, not hiding her annoyance.

  “When you hear what I have to say, you will come willingly.”

  “Come? I will go nowhere with you. Say what you must, for I imagine my father will not be long in searching for me.”

  Seamus could hear footsteps coming towards them and was worried Cole would hurt Christelle. He was hoping this would resolve peacefully. He had them in his sights now, but continued to linger, waiting for a safe moment to try and help her.

  Cole looked up. He must have heard the footsteps as well.

  “You can make this easy or hard. Perhaps we should continue this discussion on the boat.”

  “I am not leaving with you, Mr. Cole. It is not honourable of you to ask it of me.”

  “What is honour, precisely?” He scoffed. “The Duchess killed your mother. Was that honourable?”

  “No!” Christelle shouted.

  “Sweet, delectable Lillian. She was, in her own way, as I imagine you will be.”

  Seamus was going to strangle the man single-handedly when he got to him.

  “Lillian came back to England to beg your father for a second chance. You did not know, did you?”

  Christelle was speechless. Could it be true? Either way, it seemed Cole was weakening her.

  “I, too, have suffered at their hands. Come with me now and I will tell you the entire story. If you wish to return to them, you may.”

  Seamus could not wait any longer. He had to make a move. But it was very dark, and it was likely Cole was armed. He could sense the hesitation and surprise in Christelle, and he was very much afraid she would go willingly with Mr. Cole.

  Fireworks began to pop loudly in the sky, providing an excellent diversion for Cole. Unfortunately, Seamus thought he saw the gleam of a knife as a brief flash came from one of the explosives overhead.