Between them they readied fresh clothes and sponged his chest. A broad chest covered with dark hairs that tapered to his waistline and seemed to keep on going. Morgan longed to know where they stopped, but turned away and resumed changing the cloths for colder ones. Were Jackson not there would she have given in to temptation to peek a little lower? She flushed at the thought and decided to go herself for the next bowl of iced water.
“No, let me,” she insisted when Jackson protested. “I need to stretch different muscles.”
She’d have herself under control when she came back.
Light was sending searching fingers into the sky when they agreed they could quit. As she sank into a chair, Morgan felt she’d never been so tired. Lance now slept normally. She didn’t have to feel his forehead to know. His aura was a steady blue-gray, far different from that of the nighttime when it had been streaked with jagged orange lines. He was on the way to recovery, barring an onset of infection. But her mother could deal with that.
For the first time, she resolved to study under her mother and learn as much as she could of her incredible knowledge. Viviane had offered to teach her many times, but Morgan’s lack of confidence had held her back. Now that she knew she was a true daughter to her Druid mother, she wanted to learn everything available. If she could cast spells she could do anything.
His caretakers disturbed Lance as little as possible as they sponged him with one last round of cooling cloths. Morgan pulled the covers over him and turned to Jackson with a sigh.
“Jackson, could you rest in the chair while I get an hour or so of sleep? Then I’ll send you to bed for the rest of the day. Right now I’m no good to anybody for anything.”
“Of course, Miss Morgan, you should have let me do more. Don’t hurry back. I promise to call you if there is any change.”
She dragged herself off to bed, but sleep didn’t come as easily as she expected. Why was Lance so ashamed? And why was she not even more ashamed of allowing him such liberties?
Remembering those few moments as he’d caressed her with his lips and clever hands brought a smile to her relaxing face. She finally drifted off. No, she felt only glory, no shame. How could she be ashamed of something as wonderful as Lance’s fervent mouth on her breast?
Chapter Thirteen
A glowing Viviane came to the townhouse the next day. Morgan gave one look at her mother and knew something wonderful had happened. She waited with a smile for her mother to confide in her. She would no more invade her mother’s privacy than her mother would hers.
Viviane kissed her daughter, an even more loving kiss than usual. Morgan now was sure what happened was momentous, but still she waited, crossing her fingers as they both ascended the stairs. She wanted nothing but happiness for her wonderful mother.
Viviane found Lance conscious and in pain.
He grinned at Viviane, however weakly. “No more mandrake, madam. I dreamed the most amazing dreams all night. They quite unsettled me.”
Viviane’s eyebrows raised. “I must say I’m surprised, Lord Lance. That’s not a general effect of mandrake. Your fever was probably more responsible. However, let’s see your wound.”
She took off the bandages and poked all around the gash. Lance was obviously trying not to wince and Viviane smiled.
“I won’t torture you anymore, my lord. There is no suspicious puffiness. Morgan, have Jackson bring ice. Keeping it directly on his wound will greatly cut the pain. The wound doesn’t seem infected but you’re too hot, Lord Lance. I’m going to ask you to swallow a little potion of a few harmless herbs. I brew it to keep fever away, although I hope it will also dim the pain just a little. I certainly don’t want you thrashing around the bed.”
Lance sat straight up. “Bed? I don’t intend to stay in bed, madam. I’m quite well enough to be up and about.”
“You certainly are not.” Viviane pushed him flat with one hand and he lay glaring at her until his glance turned into a reluctant laugh.
“You win for now, Madam Viviane.”
“I also have a bribe to hold out to you.” She turned and gathered her daughter into her arms. “Devon and I are being married tomorrow. He wants you there and if you rest quietly today you can do it. Actually he wanted to marry today, but I told him you needed another day. As I do. I need something special for my bride’s clothes and as my attendant Morgan does too.”
She hugged Morgan with a loving grip as she talked. Morgan stared at her mother, surprise her most prominent emotion.
“I can scarcely believe it. Tomorrow! And you swore never to marry.”
“I did indeed,” her mother said lightly, kissing her daughter’s forehead.
“I think it’s wonderful. Mama, simply wonderful! Just think, I’ll be Jamie’s sister!”
Everyone beamed, even Jackson who’d just come to the doorway with more cold water.
Morgan looked doubtfully at Lance, wondering if she could safely leave him.
Viviane smiled and patted his hand.
“He’ll behave. He wants to be present as much as Devon and I want him to be there. Bring him something to read, Jackson and some ice. Come, my daughter. Let’s go shopping.”
* * * * *
Viviane was a spectacularly beautiful bride, dressed in cream-colored silk and matching gloves and shoes. The delicate shade emphasized her glorious hair and Devon beamed foolishly at everyone in his joy and pride. Morgan did not realize it but she was just as lovely. Her pale green dress floated around her and brought out the sparkling depths of her eyes. Jamie, his golden curls carefully brushed and a big smile on his face, stood between Viviane and Devon as they were married. Each of them held one small hand.
Devon brought tears to his bride’s eyes when he presented her with a bridal bouquet of white asters and red carnations, with ivy spilling down the sides.
“True love, fidelity and wedded love,” she whispered. “Thank you, my heart.”
Lance looked surprised, but Morgan knew that to provide this particular bouquet Devon must have not only researched the language of flowers but found the perfect ones he wanted for his bride. What a truly wonderful gift.
Her own heart was torn between a mixture of joy and sorrow. Her mother deserved perfect happiness, or as near as anyone could get to that elusive state. The newlyweds were going on a month’s honeymoon to France and Morgan would care for Jamie. The bride and groom planned to spend their first night at the Oaks, with Morgan and Jamie coming down the next day.
Morgan didn’t know quite what to do with the rest of her life. By the time the bridal pair returned from their honeymoon she needed to have a definite plan in mind. She would be welcome for as long as she wanted to stay, she well knew that. But they deserved some privacy for at least the first few months.
She thought probably she would return to London. She’d concentrate on studying her mother’s notes on medicine. She intended to develop her own skills with herbs and perhaps with magic spells. Maybe she could learn enough to do as much good with her life as her mother.
She’d smiled at Lance when he came into Devon’s parlor for the wedding ceremony. The radiance of her smile glowed with delight in his recovery. He held himself stiffly and with care, but he looked devastatingly handsome in the black trousers, a wing-collared white shirt with a black silk cravat and black velvet smoking jacket. He’d been advised by Viviane to not struggle into anything tight for about a week or she’d not be responsible for his stitches. Morgan thought the jacket suited him perfectly. Casual, yet sleek and elegant.
He nodded to her curtly, without a smile.
She turned away, tears springing to her eyes, devastated by his cold formality. What was he thinking to treat her so? Her initial distress gave way to anger and incomprehension. Was he resentful for her taking care of him? Or did he fear what he might have said and think she’d take advantage of information he possibly let slip? No matter, his iciness was inexcusable.
Fortunately her mother was admiring her wedding bou
quet at the moment. Morgan lowered her head for a few minutes to regain control before facing her mother’s sharp eyes.
She pasted a smile on her face and never let it slip. Indeed, she became engrossed in the wedding ceremony. Once she thought she felt Lance’s eyes on her, but when she glanced up he looked away. What under heaven was the matter with him? Perhaps she’d get a chance to talk to him after the ceremony. Jackson had prepared a light lunch for them all.
She got no chance. As soon as the ceremony was over Lance excused himself with his usual impeccable manners, saying he needed to return to his own apartments and rest a little more. He kissed the bride and shook hands with Devon, all the while mouthing the correct congratulations to them both. He also shook hands with Jamie and hugged him. Then he came to Morgan.
“I owe you my deepest thanks for your care of me, Miss Morgan. If you need anything, anything at all, ever, please call on me. I will never refuse you.” He kissed the air over her glove and left.
Morgan still kept her smile. Miss Morgan! The blasted man wasn’t going to make her cry in front of her mother. She wanted Viviane to go off without a care. Unfortunately, that didn’t quite work. Viviane took her aside for a moment.
“What’s wrong with Lance, love?”
“I simply don’t have an idea, Mama. Don’t worry. Have a wonderful time. Nobody deserves it as much as you two. I’m so very happy for you both.”
“I know you too well to be fooled, love, but this time I can’t help you. You are so special in your own right. Remember that, no matter what.”
Her mother kissed her, as did a euphoric Devon.
And then they were gone.
Morgan went slowly up the stairs. She and Jamie were leaving in the morning for the Oaks. She would occupy herself with packing and not think at all about the regrettable Chief Inspector Lord Laniston Dellafield.
How could he be so cold and distant? After holding her so hotly in his arms, how could he?
* * * * *
Morgan cherished the fresh air, loving the country home where she’d spent the last few happy years. The rolling countryside stretched in every direction from the knoll where the manor sat. She found a measure of peace here at the Oaks, walking the beloved lanes and fields, taking Jamie by the hand and teaching him about herbs and flowers.
Jamie loved being in the country and was a happy little boy. She made him even happier by starting him on riding lessons. He was inordinately proud of his progress, asking three times a day when his papa and new mama would be home so he could show them how good he was. Other than when he was on his pony, Jamie and Ambrose were inseparable. If the child was riding, Ambrose sat on his big haunches and waited for him.
Morgan rode every day. Long, hard rides on Lily, her favorite mare, named for the Eucharis lily, meaning “charming maiden”.
“I’m not good enough to ride Lily, but can’t I go with you sometime? Foxfire can keep up, I know he can.” Jamie looked so hopeful Morgan didn’t even think of refusing him.
Luckily Jamie’s pony had been named before Jamie got him. A good thing, since the Dictionary of the Language of Flowers had few names suitable for little ponies.
“You can go starting tomorrow,” Morgan said and laughed as delight spread over Jamie’s face. It would slow her down for a while, but those pleading brown eyes were beyond her refusing.
“As long as you promise to turn back when I say so,” she added as sternly as she could.
Jamie was fairly dancing in place. “Oh yes, Miss Morgan. Thank you, Miss Morgan. I love you, Miss Morgan.”
He ran over and knelt down to tell Ambrose the good news.
Jamie stuck to his promise and turned back dutifully with the groom when Morgan judged the child had had enough. Then she struck out flying across the fields and down the lanes, trying to work the sorrow out of her heart.
In addition, she spent fascinated hours with Viviane’s notebooks. She started making a list of questions to ask her mother on her return, but mostly she soaked up knowledge. Why hadn’t she tackled this captivating lore long ago? She knew the answer, she once felt hesitant because of her lack of magical skills. Now she knew she could work spells and practiced almost daily. Her confidence grew and so did her wisdom.
She began by trying to think up little things that would help someone.
First she went to the housekeeper.
“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Hodges? I know with Jamie and me here you have too much to do and I don’t have enough.”
Mrs. Hodges protested at first and then gave a little sigh. “My back’s getting old along with me, I’m afraid. If you could see if Mary is properly dusting the lower rungs of the chairs. Just check on her now and then.”
“I’d be grateful for the chance to help, Mrs. Hodges.”
She shut her eyes and wished all the dust would disappear on the instant. When she opened her eyes to no dust she was jubilant. Mrs. Hodges wrinkled her brow with puzzlement when she found the house spotless, but said nothing.
Next Morgan tried something harder. The stable master’s hands were becoming gnarled and would not easily do his bidding. Morgan cast a spell that all the leather in the tack room would be clean and shining with polish. She knew old Masterson was completely baffled, but it seemed well worth it when she saw him rub the leather with glee.
She did wonder once why her very first spell had worked so well. Surely it was not to the chestnut’s good to have its leaves fall prematurely. Then she smiled to herself as she thought of how much it was to her own good! And to her mother’s and all who cherished her. The chestnut helped them all.
Next she began to utilize her new knowledge of herbs and their benefits. She tackled the problems she constantly found on her walks and rides around the estate. She helped an old woman’s eyesight, an old man’s dreaded headaches, a young baby’s colic. She concocted a salve that relieved the pain and helped straighten the stable master’s hands. She never dreamed the country folk were beginning to compare her to her mother and blessing her.
There was so much to learn. The strong link between body and mind became apparent as she pored over the books. Many times she’d suspected illness was possibly caused and certainly exacerbated, by anxiety and pain. Her mother’s notes plainly stated this to be the case. She loved gaining knowledge and keeping herself productively busy. Her days were full and she could mostly brush aside the thoughts of Lance picking at her mind.
Nights were the worst and she began to dread bedtime. Every remembered kiss and caress came rushing back in the dark hours as she reviewed his brief lovemaking. Try as she would, she couldn’t banish the images of his beloved face and his skilled hands caressing her eager body.
She’d not heard from Lance. Now she didn’t expect to. She was sure she could someday learn to keep him from her thoughts, or limit her memories to at least only once an hour. In the meantime she lay awake at night trying not to let sorrow overrule the remembered joy.
When her parents returned she would go back to London. Although she preferred the country she was determined to allow the newlyweds their privacy. She’d take Lily with her since she planned a longer stay. Maybe for a long time indeed.
She was close to learning how to be of true value to those in pain. The image of the old man’s hands lived on in her mind. She wanted to actually cure him and felt she soon could.
She would continue her studies at London’s great libraries. She was quite interested in the ancient Chinese herbal remedies, an area her mother’s notes treated lightly. Her life could prove of benefit to others and surely she would find peace, someday, for herself.
A knock on the study door interrupted her musings.
It was Mrs. Hodges, worrying again.
“Miss Morgan, is there anything I can do for you? You get so little sleep. Some hot milk, maybe. With a fresh scone?”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Hodges. Thank you for the kind thought, but I’ll be going up now.”
Morgan sighed as she
looked at the clock and knew she’d worry the servants if she stayed up any later. Climbing the stairs slowly, she wondered if she would ever find a way to banish Lance from her nightly dreams.
What a shame she couldn’t work a spell on herself. A spell keeping the precious memories, but allowing her peace.
* * * * *
Morgan was satisfied as she twirled in front of her mirror. Her long dress of aqua chiffon hugged her hips closely and flared in the back to a small train. Her hair was pulled on top of her head and fell in curls around her face. Some chestnut ringlets swooped down to her neck. She peered but couldn’t see the red highlights her new escort enthused about. She was going out with Lt. Col. Wesley Thorndike, an officer in Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards. A handsome blond man, he’d called on her at her new stepfather’s suggestion and since then escorted her to several dinners and evenings at the theatre. He was pleasant, courteous and easy to talk to. She wanted no more.
She’d been back in London three months. Lance did not call and she gave up expecting to ever see him again. Why her heart lurched if she spotted a tall dark man in the distance, she didn’t want to consider. The Goddess knew she’d struggled to bury the memory of the haunting Lord Lance.
Col. Thorndike was escorting her to the opera tonight to see a new production of Aida. If her mind kept demanding she reach back to the night Lance took her to La Traviata, she refused to let the memories in.
The good-looking Col. Thorndike saw her coming down the stairs and pretended he had to sit down. Holding his head in a mock swoon, he staggered back against the wall.
“You’re too beautiful to be real. Are you some kind of fairy, or an angel sent from heaven?”
She laughed at his antics, as she slowly advanced to the foyer.
“You’re a charming idiot, Colonel. But I love it.”
He draped her opera cape around her shoulders and escorted her to the carriage. She smiled up at him, but worried she’d soon have to discourage him. She didn’t want him falling in love with her. It would be unfair to him.
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