Fortunately, she had been preparing for this day for weeks. So, it had only taken her an hour to gather the trunks she had already packed with hers and Abby’s things. And she had spent the whole hour fighting back more tears and fearing Rodney would show up to stop her. Actually, by the time she and Abby were on their way she wasn't sure if she had been afraid he would show up to stop her or praying for it. But he hadn't shown up.
The next two stops felt like she was driving nails into her own coffin. The first was a quick stop at her lawyer's office to finalize the arrangements she and he had already worked out. Then a quick stop by the bank to withdraw the funds she and Abby would need for the journey. By five o'clock they were ensconced in a respectable lady's boardinghouse miles from her townhouse, and the Park Plaza Hotel and Rodney Hamling. They were safe there as no men were allowed on the premises.
"I'm hungry," Abby said, pulling her back to the more pressing problems at hand.
Ideally Mary would have liked to stay entrenched safely in their hotel room until they could leave in the morning. She had even thought about leaving that night. It was why she had purchased a traveling coach. So, she could make a quick getaway if the need arose.
But that felt too much like a thief sneaking away in the middle of the night. The very thing she had done eight years ago. And with all their running around today they hadn't had time to eat more than a quick bite. The boardinghouse served a decent meal. Unfortunately, it was served quite early so they had missed the supper she had already paid for.
"There is a coaching inn at the end of the street," Mary said. "Give me a minute and we'll walk down there. I'm told they serve an excellent meat pie."
Serval minutes later she heard a clock somewhere in the boardinghouse begin to chime. Eight o'clock. Just twenty-four hours ago she had seen Rodney for the first time in eight years. And in less than a single day she had fallen hopelessly in love with him once again. She really didn't know if she could survive losing him this time. The first time had nearly killed her.
As they turned the corner and began descending towards the lobby Mary became aware of a huge outcry coming from below. She tightened her grip on Abigail's hand and slowed to a crawl as the scene before her unfolded.
There in the midst of a number of people, some she knew and others she did not, stood the Earl of Hamstone. His face was contorted in a mask of agony as he wailed loudly at the landlady. Who was standing guard defiantly before the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed over her ample bosom.
"I know she is here!" Kenny cried dropping dramatically to his knees in front of the woman. "You must let me see her. She is my heart. My life. My veryyyyy soul."
Mary's mouth fell open as she stared down at the man she loved. He was reenacting a play from their childhood. If she wasn't mistaken. And just as badly as he had done it when he had been ten-years-old.
"Ohhhh, have mercy on him, dear lady. Have mercy on him."
Mary jerked her attention to the new actor on the stage below. Leslie. The traitor. She had brought Kenny to the boardinghouse. And doing as bad a job of acting as he was. Which she knew was a farce as Lizzie was one of the best actresses Mary had ever met.
"Oh, his is the soul of love. Yeah, you cannot deny its lure. For it knows no bounds. No borders. No rules can tear it asunder."
Uneasily Mary lifted her gaze and found her cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Bastion in the middle of the crowd of people pressed into the lobby of the boardinghouse. The woman was quoting some Shakespearean play. Or at least that was what it sounded like. But she was mangling the lines horribly. Which was as preposterous as Leslie’s amateurish babblings as she had been a fine actress in her day as well.
"Yes, yes, you must let him pass. His heart is torn asunder. His best friend has died and he must fulfill his solemn pledge to his widow."
Oh, dear God in heaven. Mary glanced over the crowd and spotted the newest horrible actor in this ridiculous farce, Lady Hastmann. What in the world was she doing in the midst of this mayhem?
Mary then gazed over the whole of them that were gathered below her. The Duke and Duchess of Belfort were there. She had met them several months ago after one of her performances. They were now gazing up at her as Kenny clutched the landlady's skirt and began sobbing. A three-year-old would have done a more convincing job of it than his pathetic showing.
And behind them were the three men that had been with Kenny last night at the theatre; Lord Campton, Lord Frankton, and Lord Langtree.
A slow perusal of the rest of the room revealed a gathering of other gest and employees fascinated by the performance Rodney and his friends were putting on.
"Abby," she whispered harshly, "stay here. Please don't move from this spot."
With that she hurried down the stairs and around the stout woman standing guard at the foot of the stairs. She grabbed Kenny's hand and jerked him to his feet as she continued on toward the back of the room and the only vacant spot. Fortunately, Kenny was in an accommodating mood, at least as far as following her to the relatively quiet corner of the lobby.
Once there she whirled around and confronted him. "Rodney. Kenneth. Hamling. Just what the bloody hell do you think you are doing?"
He smiled mischievously back at her. "Proposing, of course." He then, in an overly dramatic fashion, dropped to one knee in front of her and pressed his hand to his heart. Then he began batting his eyelids at her in a comical rendition of flirtation.
Mary's mouth fell open and she just stared dumbfounded down at him. Once she gathered her thoughts, she glanced around and saw the entire room staring intently at them. With her heart pounding furiously in her chest she looked back at Kenny as he waited patiently for her reply.
"Kenny," she choked out again, "what are you doing?" He opened his mouth and she forestalled him quickly. "And don't give me any more of this rubbish about proposing." She narrowed her eyes. "You're making a fool of yourself.
Kenny smiled back at her and her stomach fluttered. "I'm being unpredictable." He then winked at her. "And chaotic."
Mary just stared at him for a second and then glanced behind him to the crowd staring on enraptured. "You have certainly caused a chaotic scene in front of everyone here.
"I certainly hope so," he replied. “And if I have to do this in front of all of London to prove to you that I’m not too stodgy for you, then I will.”
Startled, she looked at him questioningly. "But why?" she asked, truly perplexed.
His smile softened. "Mary, I am everything you and others have accused me of. I am boring, a dead boor most of the time, stodgy and overly stoic. A straight-laced, uptight, overly serious fellow who doesn't know how to have fun or let down his hair and be a bit wild once in a while."
"Oh Kenny," she said and reached down and cupped the side of his face. "You are none of those things. Not to me."
He covered her hand and held it in place as he seemed to plead with her. "No Mary, I am. I don't want to be, but I am that and more." She started to protest but he stood up quickly and touched a finger to her lips forestalling her. "No. I know what I am. Without you I am the most boring person I know. And I hate it. For the last eight years I have just existed. Going through life doing what was expected of me. Nothing more. And nothing less."
His finger slid from her lips and caressed her cheek and then cupped her face between his warm calloused hands. Leaning toward her, he stared intently into her eyes. "Mary, you are what gives my life color. You always have. Even as children you brightened my days and kept me from becoming a replica of my father. My mother saw it. It was why she encouraged our friendship. So did your mother. You were, and are, the light that keeps me alive. I need you Mary Contrary Cumpston. To keep me from being a complete and total boor."
Dropping to one knee in front of her again, he took her hands in his and squeezed them tightly. In a loud booming voice that carried to ever corner of the boardinghouse, "Mary - Irma - Cumpston – Jamison,” he slurred the fictitious last name a little,
“will you marry me and make me the happiest of men?"
A tear blurred her vision and a sob choked off her voice as she gazed down into the face of the man she had loved for most of her life. She simply did not have the strength to walk away from him this time. Through her tears, Mary glanced around at the enthralled faces of those gathered around them. Her friends and his. And people she did not know. All of them were captivated by the scene before them. And then Mary looked up in to the anxious and hopeful face of her beloved niece and knew she was lost.
She turned back to him and realized what he had just done. Mary whispered, "Did you do all this so that people would know I am Mary Cumpston and not . . . Marietta. Because I told you, it is very unlikely that anyone will connect me with the actress I’ve played the last eight years."
He shrugged his shoulders and grinned up at her. "Call it an insurance plan. And to prove to you that I'm not as stodgy as everyone believes me to be."
Mary dropped to her knees in front of him and took his face between her hands. "I have always known you weren't a stick-in-the-mud boor. No one who would follow me into all the mischief and adventures I dreamed up is not as boring as everyone thinks."
He leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips and then rested his forehead against hers. "Then follow me into this adventure, Mary. Marry me. And be my light."
"Yes, yes, yes. I would love nothing better than to be your wife and be a part of any adventure that you can dream up."
Epilogue
23rd of July 1825, 12:01 p.m.
Hamstone Manner,
Hamstoneshire, England
Rodney checked his pocket watch as he sat on the back terrace of his home, languidly sipping tea and enjoying the warm summer breeze as it blew across the land. As he did most years on this date, he was reflecting on the events that had changed his life ten years ago. The night his lost dreams had been restored to him.
An ear-piercing scream of outrage rent the air and broke the gentle quite of the early morning day. A little girl's malevolent chortling followed in its wake. Rodney glanced over at his nine-year-old son, Charles and eight-year-old daughter, Marietta. The tall, blonde-hair lanky boy was covered in mud from head-to-toe and was in hot pursuit of his sister. Both of his older children had their mother's blond hair and blue-green eyes. Or his eldest son did when not covered in mud.
"What did Marietta do now?" his wife of ten years asked as Mary joined him on the terrace overlooking the vast back garden of their estate.
He eyed the scene before him for a second and then turned to his beautiful wife and shrugged. "I'm not sure . . . but I think the future Earl of Hamstone just fell for another one of his sister's pranks."
"Marietta," his wife called out, "stop torturing your brother."
"Oh, leave her alone, Mary. She is just getting back at him for the present he left in her bed last night."
She looked at him with a gleam in her eyes. "I'm not sure the punishment fits the crime. Not more than an hour ago Marietta asked if she could adopt the toad as another one of her pets."
He smiled back at her. "How many does that make?"
She laughed softly. "Two toads, three dogs, four cats, one fox, a donkey, and a pony if you give into her request to adopt the little sorrel Lord Hastmann's mare just had."
Rodney felt his soul warm as he always did when he gazed at his wife. She was still as beautiful as the day he married her. And as unconventional. Glancing down he admired the shapeliness of her legs encased in buckskin britches and knee-high boots. He then inspected sixteen-year-old Abby and their two identical four-year-old twin girls on either side of her, all dressed in boy's knickers and shoes.
"And just where are you four off to this fine summer morning?" he asked.
"We're going to climb a tree, papa," Elizabeth, the older of the twins proudly announced. Leslie, the more serious one, giggled and nodded her head enthusiastically. The twins had his darker hair but their mother's eyes.
"And then Abby, Beth, and Lizzie and me are going to put on a play for you and mum," James, their six-year-old son, announced in his usual overly dramatic fashion. A true actor at heart.
Mary patted his curly brown locks and gently chided, "Abby, Beth, Lizzie, and I are going to put on a play."
"Mommy, that's what I said," James argued.
She smiled down at their very stubborn son. "No, sweetheart, you said, Abby, Beth, and Lizzie, and me. If you are going to be a famous actor you need to know how to speak properly."
His small son smiled brightly up at his mother and then turned back to his father. "Abigail, Elizabeth, Leslie, and I are going to put on a play for you and mother."
Rodney felt his heart warm as he smiled back and asked, "Which play are you and your sisters performing?"
"King Lear," he said. "I'm going to be Edmund and Charles is going to be the batty King."
Rodney stifled his laughter, as he choked out, "And what parts are your sisters playing?"
"Marietta is going to be Goneril. Beth is going to be Regan. And Lizzie is going to be Cordelia. She likes the part where she gets to die on stage. And Abbi is going to play all the other male roles."
With that his youngest daughter threw her hand up to her forehead, giggled, and then dropped to the stone terrace beneath her feet in a horrible rendition of dying dramatically. His mind flashed to the night of his first stage performance. He had been ten-years-old and Mary had talked him into acting in a play she had written herself. They had performed it for their mothers, their siblings, and the village children.
At the end of the play they had received a standing ovation and the praise of their mothers. And then his father had shown up and berated him for doing something so common and below the station of a person of his breeding. His mother had been furious. It had started the first of many arguments between his parents. Fights his mother won most of the times.
After his mother's death his father had refused to allow Rodney to perform in any more of the village plays. In fact, he had tried to stop him from seeing Mary at all. But their bond had been too strong by then and nothing the earl did could keep them apart. At least until the night he had been ready to ask Mary to marry him.
A momentary spasm of familiar pain stabbed him. Greatly diminished with the passage of time and the love for his wife. Rodney still marveled at the way his life had turned out. Without Mary's influence in his life, both as a child and the last ten years, he might have become a shadow of himself. But thanks to Mary he had been saved from that. And he liked to think, during his moments of arrogance, that he had helped Mary become a better person too. They balanced each other out. She kept him from becoming a stodgy old curmudgeon like his father. And he . . . well, he wasn't sure what he did to make her better as she was perfect just the way she was.
THE END
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next book in
Julianna Hughes’s
The Fallen Angels series
To Save an Angel
Sneak Peek: To Save an Angel
The Dream, The Nightmare
Miss Angela Elizabeth Devlin’s heart was fluttering wildly beneath her breasts. She had dreamed of attending a fancy ton ball for as long as she could remember. As the eldest child of Baron Heathman, it should have gone without saying that she would have her coming out in polite society at a London Ball. But Angela, or Angie as she preferred, had given up on that dream a long time ago. Not because she was not well-born enough to attend a ton ball, but because her father was a drunk, a gambler, and a philanderer who was rarely at home and had nearly bankrupted their family a dozen times over that Angie knew about.
But despite all that, here she was, standing beneath the glittering chandeliers with thousands and thousands of candles illuminating a magnificent ballroom. And it was just as she had dreamed it would be, filled with more than five hundred of the elite of England’s nobility. All the men were dressed in black tails, snow white hose, crisp white cravats, and jet-black knee-b
reeches. And they were all devastatingly handsome just as she knew they would be.
The women were vibrantly dressed in a rainbow of colors, their faces less clear to her. But then she only had eyes for the men that whirled passed her on the dance floor. The ladies’ laughter was infectious, ringing out and filling the air with a sense of joy and excitement that hummed through Angie as she watched the spectacle.
To the left of her, something exploded and the floor beneath her feet shook. She shut her eyes and cried out, “No! Not now.”
When she lifted her lashes, the dancers were still there and she breathed a sigh of relief. But the faces of the men were beginning to fade into the distance, becoming indistinguishable from the others in the ballroom.
In desperation, Angie looked to the left and saw more of the elegantly dressed people fading into the shadows. Then she looked in front of her and a line of smartly dressed French soldiers in their distinct blue uniforms stood where the handsome men had stood a moment before. Their rifles at the ready, their faces contorted with hatred.
Her body shuddered and she spun around to find the gayly dressed men and women shimmering in the distance. And then another earth-shattering explosion to her right caused her to flinch and whirl toward the sound. And there on a hill were a dozen men in Grenadier green uniforms, charging into a hell of fire and smoke. Sergeant-Major Gordon Campbell was at the head of the men, followed closely by Captain Lucien Stoughton, and then the kid, Corporal Jeremey Cavendish, three of the men along with herself that were known as the Fallen Angels.
Angie shook her head violently and closed her eyes tightly. “No,” she cried out. This wasn’t right. She was at a ball in London. She opened her eyes and tried to concentrate. This was all wrong. She had never been to London. But yet here she was. Wasn’t she?
The Earl's Night of Being Wild (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 3) Page 11
