The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll)

by Wheeler, Kae Elle

  Kendra accepted the offering, knowing she’d never be able to choke it past her tear-clogged throat. “We spoke in depth of his aspirations to help children from all levels of society to learn to read,” she whispered. Kendra sensed Joseph’s fully alerted attention but forged ahead, determined to let Mrs. Thomas know how much she valued her son’s ambition. “He was to tutor me in Latin upon his return to England.” She choked on the words.

  Mrs. Thomas considered her for a moment. “It would give me great pleasure to offer you several of his Latin texts.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Please, Lady Lawrie. I can see how much his friendship meant to you.” She stood. “If you’ll pardon me for just a moment, I shall return shortly.”

  Upon Mrs. Thomas’s departure, Kendra bowed her head, unable to stem the tears from finally falling.

  “Kendra.” Joseph stuffed a handkerchief into her hand. “I’m sorry.” His voice was gruff.

  She could only shake her head. Words stuck in her throat. She dabbed her eyes and managed to subdue her tears by the time Mrs. Thomas reappeared. In her hands, she held two books.

  “Did my son mention the school he and his dear friend Edmund started?”

  “He did, indeed.” Kendra smiled.

  “Edmund runs it. Alas, the biggest obstacle is funds, of course. But overall, it has proven quite successful thus far.”

  Kendra nodded and made a mental note to speak to Papa. A substantial contribution would not bring back Mr. Thomas, but perhaps it would go far in realizing the dream Mr. Thomas and his friend had for their school.

  ****

  Joseph narrowed his gaze on Kendra and her reaction. Mon Dieu! She’d known the man for less than a week. Could she have fallen in love with the schoolmaster? In three days? He feared the questions would plague him to his death.

  Non. Joseph refused to believe it. Love was for fools and the very young. He swallowed a groan. His wife was very young. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that she had convinced herself of the notion, in light of Charles Thomas’s attentions. And now that the man was dead, well, she might see fit to place him on a pedestal. He pressed his lips together. The uphill battle he faced was not a pleasant prospect.

  Bah. Once he and Kendra were alone, he would show her there was no reason to long for a ghost. Her response to his kiss was enough to convince Joseph he’d have no trouble in that quarter. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to absent themselves from Sunderland as soon as politely possible.

  ****

  “ ’Tis a grand day,” Joseph remarked. The carriage they’d bought was more a cart, but the two horses were sound. He forewent a driver, choosing to handle the ribbons himself. Kendra, he was learning, did not speak freely before others, and he had questions.

  The day was, indeed, perfect, with a rare, deep blue sky and puffy clouds. The road was rutted just enough to have her latching onto his arm periodically when they hit the stray rut. Warm wind tousled his hair, and hers, he was pleased to note. Her singular concentration was engaging.

  She had yet to speak, though they were well out of Sunderland heading south. The two Latin books Mrs. Thomas had bestowed upon Kendra were stacked upon her lap. She seemed to be making notes on the cover of the top one with one finger, as before. Nothing he could decipher, however.

  “Are you always this…appeasing?” he asked.

  Nothing.

  He grimaced. A fine way to treat a new husband. “ ’Twill be a long trip to Yorkshire if you keep chattering away like you are.”

  Another timely rut made him smile when she clutched his arm with one hand quite strong for such delicate fingers. A flattened palm held the books in place with the other.

  “My apologies, my lord, did you say something?” She glanced up, brows furrowed.

  “Nothing of import. Are you going to always address me as ‘my lord,’ my lady?” He grinned at her. “I can think of one or two scenarios where it might be diverting, but…”

  She blushed, but jutted her chin out. “I am a married woman now.”

  “In name only,” he returned.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  Joseph waited for her to continue. A trickle of unease rippled through him as the silence expanded.

  “Do—do you love me?”

  The question caught him off his guard, irritating him. “I…I’m attracted to you.” This was a slippery slope, and no good would come of it.

  “In other words, you mean, no. Or, in case you didn’t think I understood English, non. Or German, perhaps? Nein.”

  His pleasant mood evaporated. “You know as well as I that love does not enter into many aristocratic unions. Love!” he spat.

  “Perhaps,” she sighed. “But I always believed mine would be different. After all, I married a magician in Gretna Green, didn’t I?”

  He pulled up on the reins, bringing the horses to a stop and faced her. “Oui. You married me,” he said softly. “Perhaps because you knew your lover would never return to you?” The second the words left his mouth he regretted it.

  Fury stained her cheeks pink. “M-my l-lover?” The breath she took seemed to steady her. She answered more calmly than he deserved. “You must have been desperate, indeed, to overlook a matter as serious as my virginity to claim my hand. What was it? Money? An heir and spare?”

  He should tell her the truth, that his uncle had depleted the Yarmouth estates. That, yes, he needed money. But the hurt in her eyes stopped him. The truth would devastate her. “Of course, I need an heir,” he growled. “And I chose you.” A sense of urgency tore through him, and he pulled her to him.

  ****

  His mouth played with hers. The villainous fool thought to use tricks to show her how tender he could be, or how desired she could feel? It would behoove her to keep her head clear. His kiss sent spirals of ecstasy coursing through her, weakening her resolve to push him away.

  He projected confidence, strength, protectiveness—but every one of those traits was a lie.

  Mr. Thomas’s books hit the floor of the carriage with a clap, startling her. She broke away, breath rapid and unsteady. “No. German? Nein. In French, monsieur, to be quite clear so you understand, non!”

  Joseph peeled his hands from her. Gratified somewhat by his grim expression, she swept up the books and leaped to the ground. “I’ll ride inside.”

  Chapter Nine

  Night had fallen into black by the time Joseph pulled into the stable yard of Northallerton’s one inn. He hopped down and peered in the door of the carriage. Kendra was sleeping soundly. Handing off the horses with instructions to the stable boy to wait, he shook his defiant little wife awake.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, my dear. But I dare not leave you alone whilst I secure us a room. I’ll not go chasing across the country for a runaway bride.” He spoke softly, teasing her.

  He wished he could say the words she longed to hear, but somehow it seemed wrong to lie about love above everything else. She sat up slowly, her flaxen hair awry, blinking in confusion. She held Mr. Thomas’s books close to her chest.

  Joseph held out his hand. She looked at it, then him. After a moment, she pulled her gloves from her pocket and slipped them on before placing her hand in his. Joseph let out a small sigh of relief. All would be right.

  He handed her down. “Would you see to my valise?” she said to the stable boy with a smile so bright it lit up the stars and turned the lad’s face bright red.

  The heavy weight that had pressed on Joseph’s shoulders all day suddenly abated. He grinned and reached inside for her bag. “I’ll do the honors, Lady Lawrie.”

  ****

  Joseph was able to secure a snug chamber. Innkeeper Harper and his wife tripped over their feet to serve them. The first provision consisted of a tub of warm water that went far in washing off the travel stains, and soon thereafter they were treated with steaming bowls of hearty stew accompanied by chunks of warm crusty bread.

  While Kendra’s exuberan
ce remained somewhat subdued, she at least made attempts at civility. It spoke well of her upbringing. They were married, and she would make the best of the situation, he realized. It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but Joseph would count experience and opportunity on his side. She was lovely, and he would treat her well.

  The doll was propped against the pillows, its painted eyes boring into him. On the floor next to the hearth was Kendra’s open valise. The tub had been removed. The fire, stoked, emanated warmth. ’Twas a fairly pleasant atmosphere, in his estimation. He could have done without the strange doll’s omnipresence. A ridiculous thought, perhaps, but it had saved their lives, hadn’t it?

  “And what other topics engaged your attentions at these so-called lectures?” He twirled his wineglass before lifting it for a sip.

  He hid a grin at her raised brow. Apparently, she didn’t care for the reference of “so-called lectures.” Joseph cleared his throat. “What I meant was—”

  “I know what you meant,” she countered mildly.

  He’d prefer to have riled her, but she was as cool as an English rain shower in spring. French blood running through her veins would have done much for encouragement. But patience would have to work in his favor. Once he began teasing her with kisses, she would be begging him for more. And that idea appealed to him more than he could say. “Oui, madame?” He set down his glass and dipped his spoon in his bowl.

  “I’ve attended lectures regarding Ancient Egypt, the Renaissance…” Her gaze fastened on his mouth, a mischievous gleam twinkled in her eye.

  Joseph caught his breath.

  “There was one truly fascinating topic in particular I found.” She answered with a husky intonation that resonated through him, rippling up the base of his spine to the nape of neck. “The supposition that if a young lady whose choice of husband clashed with that of her parents—” She lifted her shoulders as if contemplating her next words. “Should the young lady in question ignore their demands, and follow her own inclinations to marry the man of her heart?”

  Somehow Joseph kept his jaw from hitting the table, though his spoon slipped from his fingers, and clattered to the table. He snatched it up.

  Kendra smiled, blandly. “Contrasting their commands, per se.” She flung out her hand. “Should she be made to comply, or should she remain in a State of Celibacy?’”

  He swallowed quickly, coughing when something obviously went down wrong. “Mon Dieu,” he sputtered.

  Her lips twisted in a mysterious tip that sent the lust surging through his veins.

  “And what did you conclude?” he croaked.

  She didn’t answer right away, just pierced him with her wide blue eyes. He might expire on the spot, waiting. But then her words, barely audible, whispered across his skin like a velvet glove. “That I chose you.”

  Joseph dropped the spoon in his bowl and shoved his chair from the table. It toppled back, but he was already around to the other side. He pulled her up in his arms and parted her lips with his. Her arms wound about his neck.

  But something felt out of sorts. The room tilted at an odd angle, spots blacked before his eyes.

  “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  “I-I fear I need to…to lie down.”

  ****

  Kendra assisted her husband to the bed, a feat in and of itself. He was one very large solid mass of masculinity.

  “My dear, this is quite un-unseemly, but I fear I may have to trouble you for the chamber—” Kendra was tugging the chamber pot from beneath the bed even as the words spilled from him.

  For the next two hours, Joseph retched uncontrollably. She held the hair from his face, gave him water to rinse his mouth, and sent for the innkeeper’s wife for assistance. They somehow managed to tug off his boots, divest him of his jacket, and maneuver him beneath the covers.

  “You poor deary,” she said. “ ’Twasn’t nothin’ he ate ’ere, was it? You ain’t sick?”

  “No, Mrs. Harper. It came upon him quite suddenly.” Kendra was panting from her exertions even while her heart still pounded in fear. “I’ve no idea what came over him.”

  “I’ll send up some tea, for ye. Ye’ll need yer strength for that ’en.” She pointed to Joseph, her large bosomy form none the worse.

  “Thank you. I don’t know how I’d have managed.”

  Mrs. Harper quit the room with a small click of the door behind her.

  Kendra moved to the bed and cupped her husband’s jaw. Even in a deep slumber his strength amazed her. Steady, rhythmic breaths reassured her, so much that her fingers trembled. What would she have done if she’d lost him? The enormity of the idea quivered through her.

  She put her lips to his forehead. He must have thought her a complete ninny earlier that day. Of course, people of their rank did not marry for love. But she’d hoped he had some regard for her. The knock at the door startled her.

  “Yer tea, ma’am.”

  Kendra held the door open for the girl, who was obviously the Harpers’ daughter. A sudden thought struck her. “What’s your name?”

  “Rachel, miss.” She set the tray on the table and dipped a quick curtsey.

  “Do you…read, Rachel?”

  “No, ma’am. My mum, she reads a little.”

  “Is it something you’ve ever aspired to?”

  “Don’t see no cause for it in my case, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you?” Kendra asked. “Never to travel to foreign lands through the eyes of another?”

  Rachel tilted her head in confusion. “I fear I don’t understand.”

  ’Twas sad, in a way, but Kendra smiled at her. “Pay no mind to me, Rachel.”

  “Are you meanin’ to say there’s other worlds…in books?” Her tone sounded incredulous.

  “If one can read, I believe so,” Kendra said softly.

  “I-I believe I might like that, ma’am.”

  “Perhaps your mother can help.”

  “Aye, perhaps…” Rachel shook her head as if remembering where she was and dropped another quick curtsey. “Me mum would have my head if she heard me talkin’ to gentry, like. Will that be all you’re needin’, ma’am? Mum sent biscuits for your man, in case he wakes hungry and all.”

  “Thank you, Rachel. Yes, that will be all.” Kendra bolted the door after her departure and poured herself some tea, with a small sigh. Mr. Thomas and his friend Edmund had taken on quite the task. Kendra would offer help to their cause.

  If she couldn’t read, she resolved to do all in her power to see that others did not suffer her same fate. She could support Mr. Thomas’s dreams, on some level, at least.

  She meandered to the doll and tugged the yellowed missive from its pocket. Smoothing the note on the table top, she looked at the words she couldn’t begin to make out a week past. She studied their shapes as Mr. Thomas had suggested. While only a few stood out now, it was indeed progress.

  “…you…shall…” she murmured. She studied the smaller words and traced them on the flat surface of the table, also as Mr. Thomas had encouraged, making out two more, “or” and “to.” She’d learned from him that “bo” was, indeed, not a word. A vague recollection touched her. Had Joseph read the note aloud when she was ill? Everything was such a blur.

  “Something, something, “or” something…” Kendra still had a long way to go. Oh! It is so frustrating.

  Niccòlo’s sardonic words regarding a “curse” and “true love” came roaring back, and with it, his quick humor and earnest admiration. Tears filled her eyes. Had he made it out alive? What of the others? Were they tortured? Dead? She would likely never know.

  A heavy weariness settled over her. Carefully refolding the note, she stuffed it back in the gypsy’s little pocket. Kendra placed her in the chair near the window and walked to the bed. Joseph’s harsh expression softened a bit in the firelight. He was going to be fine. She might as well try to rest. With the long journey ahead, ’twould be important.

  She contemplated her mule shoes—a lucky find, in
deed, short-heeled, in a lovely green with pink roses atop—before slipping them off. It was all the little store in Gretna had without making a special order. The shopkeeper said someone from the local gentry had them specially made, then never picked them up. She changed into her night rail, guilt consuming her. Winifred and Julia might never have new shoes ever again.

  Suddenly weary, she decided to lie down. If Joseph needed her, she would be right here. She lay atop the covers, certain she’d never find sleep. ’Twas her last waking thought as her head touched the pillow.

  ****

  Warmth in a spot about the size of a hand seeped through Joseph’s shirt to wake him in a state of desire. But events from the night before rushed back. What the hell happened? One minute he was ready to devour his sweet young wife, the next he was expelling the food he’d just consumed like an enceinte woman three weeks after she’d learned of her errant condition.

  He pried open his eyes to find painted ones watching him. He would swear amusement dripped from the bizarre orbs. Impossible.

  He swerved his head the other direction, away from the doll, where Kendra’s mussed hair tickled his nose. One ungloved hand lay on his chest, and once again the tiny scars across the back teased his curiosity. He raised that hand to his lips, touched the tip of his tongue to the ridges, wondering what had happened to cause them. Laying her palm back flat against his chest, he covered it with his.

  Shifting once more, he squinted at the morning sunlight unshielded by the aged, moth-eaten curtains. The fantasy of initiating Kendra into her role as a married woman tempted him beyond measure. Yet they’d lost the night, and she deserved and needed his patience, not the rushed act of a lust-filled scoundrel unable to control his desire. Non. There were several nights ahead in which to sate that need. Daylight travel hours were few, indeed, if the angle of the sun was anything to go by. He disengaged himself from her warm body and slipped from the room to take care of other pressing needs.

  His head pounded, though he knew he hadn’t over-indulged in spirits the night before. He found the pitcher of water and drank deeply. The memory of Kendra holding the cup to his lips flooded him. He groaned.