by Allison Lane
“Thank you for saving him,” said a shy voice.
Cherlynn started, then realized that another spirit drifted in the void with her own. It wasn’t hard to guess whose. “Emily? So nice to meet you at last. You will take care of him, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Keep him happy. He’s been through so much.”
“I know. You will still have a title, by the way, though only Lady Thurston, and only by courtesy. And your books will attract a wide readership from now on.”
Cherlynn nodded, though getting published no longer mattered. Grief already overwhelmed her. But at least she would have something of Drew’s. “Just out of curiosity, why did you choose me?”
“You were the first one who would do.” A sigh filled the void. “The vehicle had to be connected to Broadbanks and had to know enough to survive Dr. Harvey’s bloodletting. But that prove nearly impossible. I was tied to the house. That crazy gypsy prevented me from reaching a candidate some years ago – the sixty-eighth marchioness, if I remember correctly. She came incognito, and the guides never spotted her. I suspect it was the title transfer that finally gave me an opportunity. It confused the gypsy long enough for me to reach you. Or perhaps her power waned once the title was no longer tied to the blood.”
“You took quite a chance,” she observed. “I might have bungled it badly. You knew nothing about me.”
“Not true. You looked at Drew and recognized his pain. I could see that you longed to help him. That made success almost certain.”
Drew raised his face to the sky and shouted.
“Oh, no!” Sobs choked Emily’s voice as it sank into a despairing whisper. “They warned me of the risks, but I refused to believe!”
“What’s the matter?” Cherlynn grabbed Emily’s arm, amazed that it seemed to have substance. As did hers. Within moments, the girl’s face also appeared, twisted in grief.
“He does not want me to return.”
“Of course he does,” she scoffed. “He loves you.”
Emily cocked her head as though listening. Tears trickled down her face. “Can’t you hear him?”
She shook her head. “I hear only you.”
“He is begging me to send you back.”
“That can’t be!”
“It’s true. He loves you.”
“He’s merely confused, Emily. Give him time to catch his breath. It’s only been a few days since he learned who I was.”
“No. He wants you.” Emily stared into her eyes. “Do you love him?”
She sighed. “How could I not? He is like no man I ever met.”
“Enough to give up the conveniences you are accustomed to?”
“You mean I actually have a choice?” Her voice sang with hope.
Emily nodded. “I have loved him since I was fourteen. I devoted my life to him and postponed my eternal reward. But if he needs you to be happy, then go, with my blessing.”
Cherlynn drew in a deep breath. “What a remarkable gift, Emily. But there is one thing I need to know. If I return, will I still have your body?”
“Why?”
“I was told after my miscarriage that I would conceive no more children. If that impediment comes with me, then I cannot accept. Drew needs an heir.”
Emily nodded. “The true test of love. You would sacrifice yourself rather than bring him harm. Don’t worry. It will be as before. You will bring your mind, your character, your personality. That is what he needs. The body is fully functional, and I offer it with pleasure.”
“Thank you, Emily. You will always be first in my prayers.”
“One more thing,” added Emily with a last longing look at Drew. “I also bequeath you my memories. Love him well.”
“I will,” she promised even as the vortex reversed to spit her back into the clearing. She opened her eyes to find Drew weeping on her breast, then slid a hand up to caress his hair.
“Emily?” he asked, raising his head to gaze uncertainly into her eyes.
She shook her head.
“Cherlynn?” The love that blazed on his face burned clear to her soul.
“She heard your plea and sent me back,” she whispered, touching his cheek.
“Thank you, Em.”
Arms closed around her. His kiss was even more shattering than the one they had shared in the folly – and nothing like the chaste exchanges he had dared with Emily in the Yorkshire woods. It went beyond lust, beyond passion, becoming an exchange of souls that united them as nothing else could have done. She felt his longing, his need, his wonder at the gift he had been given. In return, she basked in his love, his acceptance of every aspect of Cherlynn Cardington’s character, his determination to make sure she never regretted her choice.
“It really is you,” he said, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “I can’t believe she sacrificed the rest of her life.”
“She loves you, Drew. As do I. I would have done the same.”
“I love you, Cherlynn. More than I thought possible.”
“She sent us one last gift,” she announced as he helped her to her feet. “Her memories. They will help me adjust to life here.”
He grinned and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. “I’m scheduled to be married in twelve days. But I’m in need of a bride. Are you game?”
“Ready, willing, and able.”
“For anything and everything,” he agreed, pulling her into another embrace before leading her to the horses.
EPILOGUE
December 24, 1812
Andrew Villiers, Sixth Marquess of Broadbanks, held a glass of sherry up to the firelight and watched the sparks play through the amber liquid. “To our son,” he said quietly, toasting his wife.
“Or our daughter,” replied Cherlynn, raising a cup of herbal tea as she rested her free hand on the swell that was barely detectable to her touch. The joys of pregnancy were countless now that she had a husband who shared them. She could hardly wait for that first fluttering kick. Any day now . . .
“Too bad Father died before we knew,” he said with a sigh.
“He knew.”
He raised a questioning brow.
“I told him that last night, though I wasn’t quite sure. And even though he could no longer speak, he smiled, so I know he understood.” Lord Broadbanks had lived nearly six weeks after their wedding, basking in his children’s affection until the very end.
“You’ve a rare gift for love, Cherlynn.”
“If so, it’s something you brought out. No one else ever noticed.” But she did not want to think of her past. “Guess what arrived today.”
He unfolded the letter and held it up to the light. “Your book sold. Congratulations! Can even Christmas contain so many celebrations?”
She laughed, though he was right. Anne’s wedding, Raeburn’s recovery, Drew’s anticipated heir, and now this. Only one cloud marred the horizon. She remained unable to mention the curse, but she pushed the problem aside as another of those inexplicable cosmic rules. There were so many topics she couldn’t discuss that she no longer tried to remember upcoming events. “Your critiques were right on target. Gothics are more my style. We’ll leave the comedies of manners to Miss Austen.”
Hardwick paused in the doorway. “Mr. Stevens requests a word, my lord.”
“Send him in.”
Cherlynn suddenly had trouble breathing. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see.
So this was why she’d remained silent. Fay had not been solely responsible for calling down the curse. But surely Drew would do the right thing. The fluttering of her child’s first kick went all but unnoticed, its life hanging in the balance as footsteps approached the room.
Mr. Stevens halted just inside the doorway, his expression softening as he took in the scene. “Excuse me, but Jeremy Fallon just returned from Dover. A woman and child have taken shelter in one of the caves on Chalk Down. It’s no place to be just now, my lord. We’ll have snow by morning if my knee is any
prophet. She’ll freeze out there. As will the babe.”
Cherlynn quit fighting fate’s paralyzing hand. She knew Drew, knew his mind, knew his compassion. There was nothing to fear.
“Of course it’s no place for a woman, Stevens!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t Jeremy bring her to shelter? Fetch them in.”
“At once, my lord.”
* * * *
By the time they returned from midnight services, the deed was done. Hardwick greeted them at the door.
“The lass is a gypsy, my lord,” he said, his face carefully neutral. “But she carried this.” He thrust a crumpled paper into Drew’s hand.
“What is it?” Cherlynn asked as he smoothed the page.
“Damn him!”
Reading over his shoulder, she recognized the sheet as marriage lines. The groom was Randolph Villiers.
“Because he married beneath him?” she wished she could find the words to spell out their predicament, but they wouldn’t come. Whatever the result of this encounter, Drew would carry the entire responsibility.
“Because the handwriting is his. I’ve seen half a dozen pages just like this. Randolph had a penchant for virgins. Whenever he couldn’t seduce one, he married her – falsely, of course. How many others did he ruin and abandon?”
Expelling a sigh of frustration, he headed for the room where the gypsy and her child lay.
Cherlynn was appalled. Black eyes, black hair, and dusky skin had given the girl an exotic beauty that was still apparent, but she could not be more than sixteen, and she was very ill. Even untutored eyes could recognize the faint thread by which she clung to life. Her son rested in a cradle near the bed, looking little better. His eyes were dull and listless, but his parentage was obvious, matching sketches she’d seen of Randolph as a child.
“He’s so thin,” she murmured, gathering him into her arms.
The gypsy coughed long into a blood-spattered handkerchief.
Tuberculosis, Cherlynn diagnosed. Or consumption, as it was called in this time. They would have to keep the air moving to spare the staff.
“I can’t breathe,” gasped the girl, but Cherlynn was already opening the windows. Only when she saw the gypsy relax did she recall that the Rom hated being indoors.
“Where is my husband?” Another coughing spell claimed her.
Drew sat down on the bed, taking the thin hand into his own. “Randolph died on March 15. He stumbled over a cliff in the dark.”
“So that is why he never returned. He had gone to break the news of our marriage to his father.” A tear escaped to slide down her cheek.
“This is his son?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Nicholas Randolph Villiers, after my father and my husband. He is three months old.” Another cough wracked her. “I am dying, as I well know. But I had to bring Nicki home. My people would never accept him.”
“He will be cared for.” He exchanged a look with Cherlynn, who nodded. “We will raise him here, as is fitting for my nephew, but I will see that he learns of his mother’s people. To which caravan do you belong?”
“Bless you,” she murmured, adding a name before falling back against the pillow. In a moment she was asleep.
He summoned the housekeeper. “Find a wet nurse. At once, if possible. And assign someone to look after her.”
“Keep those windows wide open,” added Cherlynn as they headed upstairs.
“You do not mind taking in Randolph’s son?” he asked when they reached their rooms.
“Of course not. All children deserve a good home.”
“Even if he inherited Randolph’s weaknesses?”
“We will love him and raise him to the best of our abilities,” she said, sliding her fingers into his hair as he loosened his cravat.
“Thank you. That will relieve her mind. We’ll learn more in the morning.”
“She won’t awaken. Her goal is achieved.”
“How do you know?”
“That was the other reason Emily brought me here. To break the Broadbanks Curse.” And with the uttering of the words, her frozen tongue unlocked, and she was at last able to explain the horror which his own generosity had averted.
“I can’t believe it,” he said at last, shaking his head one last time. “So much grief. Randolph and Fay between them destroyed an entire family.”
“Fay must have started rumors that you killed Randolph, probably because you tried to control her. Why else would the gypsy have included you in her curse?”
He sighed. “My card case was missing the next morning. I never did find it.”
“I knew she must have fabricated evidence against you. It was her ultimate threat, and one she would have acted on after marriage out of sheer perversity. She hated you. But that is past, my love. And we can now live our lives with no more inkling of what is in store for us than any other couple. It will be quite an adventure.”
“Starting now,” he murmured, sweeping her into his arms.
Copyright © 1998 by Susan Ann Pace
Originally published by Signet Regency (0451195183)
Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
