Neither did she. Eliza’s throat was too clogged for words. Eaton had protected Sophie last night with his quick thinking and he had not hesitated to come for her. ‘I’ll stay with him awhile. You should go and rest.’
Cassian took Sophie and closed the door behind him. Alone, Eliza reached for his hand where it lay atop the blankets. There were things she needed to say to him, things she’d realised in the mine—or perhaps she’d always known them and had been too afraid to admit it. ‘Thank you, Eaton, for saving me, not just last night, but even before, by helping me see that I don’t need to be alone.’ She threaded her fingers through his, alarmed at how stiff they were, how unmoving. ‘Thank you for looking after Sophie.’ Her voice cracked and the words seemed inadequate. She would be dead now if not for him. Instead, it was he who was in danger. She laid her head on his chest, feeling the fevered warmth of him. ‘Eaton,’ she whispered, ‘I love you. I need you to wake up so I can tell you I’ve changed my mind. I will marry you if you will still have me.’
* * *
Eliza was safe. Eliza was free. His mission was complete. He could go now, on to whatever was next. The next world, perhaps. There was nothing in this one for him now. Eliza didn’t want him, didn’t need him. Maybe this was why nothing had pricked his interest since the school opened. Maybe he was done here.
My boy, you’re wrong. You’re too young to be done.
‘Richard!’ He couldn’t see anyone, but he could hear his mentor, his old friend’s voice.
She loves you—aren’t you listening?
‘She doesn’t want me. I can’t give her a child.’
You can give her more than a child—you can give her hundreds of children. Open schools. Adopt. Make Falmage Hill a home again. I never thought you would give up so easily, Eaton. She’s already lost one man. She can’t stand to lose you, too. She needs you, her daughter needs you. Wake up, be a husband, be a father. Listen to me...
There was a new voice now. Eliza’s voice, begging him, wanting him.
I want to tell you I’ve made a mistake, I want to marry you. I don’t want to do it alone any more.
He pushed against heavy eyelids and coaxed his hand around warm fingers. He forced sound over his dry throat and was able to form a single word. ‘Eliza.’ And she was there, beside him, crying, kissing him, holding his face between her hands.
‘Eaton, I was wrong. I made a mistake.’ She was babbling through her tears.
‘I know,’ he managed to say hoarsely with a smile. ‘I heard you. You want to marry me.’
‘Yes. As soon as you’re able.’ She clumsily poured him a glass of water, slopping some of it on him as she tried to help him drink.
‘You pour water the way I pour champagne in moving carriages,’ Eaton rasped. ‘What changed your mind, Eliza?’
‘When I was lost in the mine, I realised I wanted to marry you not because I needed you or was dependent on you, but because I loved you. I. Loved. You. That’s the only reason.’
‘It’s the best reason.’ Eaton pushed back her hair with his good arm. ‘It’s the reason I came back. I wanted to have a life with you and with Sophie, and any children we might accumulate on the way, more than I wanted to die.’
Eliza smiled, the sweetest sight he’d ever beheld. ‘You must be feeling better already. You’re making plans.’
Eaton grinned. ‘Can you plan a wedding in three weeks? The moment I am well enough to walk down the aisle, I want to marry you. Every minute counts, Eliza. I don’t want to waste a single one.’
Epilogue
Not a moment was wasted. Three weeks to the day, Eliza stood at the doors of the school’s grand salon, dressed in a gown of pale blue velvet, a veil of cream lace on her head. Blue for loyalty. Blue for truth. Blue for eternity. Today, she was breaking one vow to take another, far more important one. She’d sworn never to marry again, but she’d not sworn never to love.
‘Are you ready?’ The Duke of Bude offered her his arm. Eaton’s father would give her away to the man she loved in the place where they’d first met, the place where Eaton had proposed, the place where Eaton had given so much of himself to so many.
‘You look beautiful, Mama.’ Sophie twirled in her new dress, blue as well, her hair done in long thick curls. ‘Is it my time to scatter the rose petals?’ She was excited for her part in the ceremony. Eaton had insisted she be part of it. ‘Today, I am getting a papa,’ she told the Duke proudly.
‘Yes, you are.’ The Duke bent down to tweak a curl. ‘And I am getting a new granddaughter and a daughter-in-law. Who do you think is the luckiest? I think I am.’
Eliza disagreed. She was the luckiest of them all. She’d found love when she’d least expected it. She’d also found a partner, a man willing to be her equal, willing to fuse her dreams with his. Eaton had been true to his word, scrambling for a special licence as soon as he managed to get out of bed. He was marrying her three weeks after he’d awoken from his fever and she was ready. She didn’t want to wait a day longer to start their life, not when she’d nearly lost the chance altogether.
From inside the grand salon, chords sounded on the Sébsastian Érard and the doors opened to a wedding march Cador Kitto had composed just for them, another three-week wonder. But love made so many things possible. Sophie went before her, happily spreading rose petals down the ribbon-festooned aisle, guests rising as she made her way towards the front. Eaton’s friends were there; Inigo and Cassian smiled, the Duchess of Bude wiped tears from her eyes as she passed.
Reverend Maddern waited for her alongside Eaton but she had eyes only for her soon-to-be husband. Eaton stood dressed in a blue morning coat and fawn pantaloons, dark hair already unruly just as she liked it; his arm in a sling, a reminder of his bravery—a reminder, too, that whatever came their way, they would face it together.
She heard little of the service and would remember even less except the part where Eaton kissed his bride. The Reverend pronounced them husband, wife and family as Eaton gave Sophie his good hand and led them back down the aisle. Eliza did not think the world could feel any more complete. But Eaton had another surprise for her.
On the way to the wedding breakfast at Falmage Hill, the carriage turned towards Wheal Karrek, stopping a short distance from the mine yard. She tossed Eaton a questioning glance. She’d not visited since the night Detford had died. Inigo had kindly—and temporarily—taken over the reins of the business in addition to quietly investigating Brenley’s attempt at creating a mining monopoly among other financial considerations. There was no proof Brenley had done anything illegal, yet, but it would take time. Already, she could see the effects of Inigo’s efforts. He’d organised the recovery and stopped any further tunnelling. The damaged section of the mine from the rockslide was being pumped out below. Above ground, a section of land had been quartered off with stakes and string. She threw Eaton a glance. ‘What are we doing here? What is this? No one said anything about a stop.’
‘Consider this an ambush.’ Eaton grinned and looked mysterious. ‘Be patient. I have a wedding gift for you.’ He jumped down and rang the bell, calling all the miners to assemble, all work forgotten for the moment as Eaton climbed back in the open carriage and stood up for all to see. ‘Attention everyone! Today I celebrate my marriage to this woman, the new Lady Lynford and the future Duchess of Bude. In honour of that marriage, my gift to her is the Wheal Karrek school for miners’ children, where everyone will be able to learn to read and write.’ He turned to her. ‘Eliza, would you do us the honour of breaking the ground?’
Eliza swiped at her tears. A school! He was giving her a school. Had there ever been a more wondrous gift? The gesture overwhelmed her as so many of his gestures often had from the start. She took the shovel from Gillie Cardy and dug out the first scoop of dirt to a rousing cheer from the miners. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered to Eaton.
He beamed. ‘It was your idea.�
�
Her new husband certainly didn’t waste any time. But she knew what he’d say to that. There wasn’t any time to waste. There never was when you were in love.
* * *
Whilst you’re waiting for the next book in
The Cornish Dukes miniseries,
why not check out Bronwyn Scott’s
Allied at the Altar miniseries
A Marriage Deal with the Viscount
One Night with the Major
Tempted by His Secret Cinderella
Captivated by Her Convenient Husband
Keep reading for an excerpt from His Countess for a Week by Sarah Mallory.
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His Countess for a Week
by Sarah Mallory
Chapter One
The short November day was coming to an end when the Apollonia entered Portsmouth Harbour, its sails turned pink by the setting sun. On the bustling deck one figure stood motionless, a gentleman wrapped in a heavy cloak. He wore no hat and his thick blond hair was ruffled by the breeze as he stared out across the water, his eyes narrowed against the evening sunlight. He did not look at the sturdy walls and menacing fortifications rearing up around them, but back out through the narrow harbour entrance towards the open sea.
The Captain approached him. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, we’ll be docking shortly.’
‘What?’ He turned, his gaze and his mind taking a moment to focus on the Captain. ‘Ah, yes. You’ll be wanting me below decks, out of the way, I suppose.’
Reassured by the friendly tone, the Captain allowed himself a grin.
‘Aye, sir, if you will. There’s that many sacks and crates piled here...’
‘And you don’t want your men tripping over the passengers. Very well, Captain. I’ll go below, out of your way.’
‘I thank ’ee for it, sir. We’ll get you off as soon as we can, rest assured o’ that.’
With a smile and a nod, Randolph made his way back to the dark, airless cabin. It had been his home for the past six months; another few minutes could be easily borne. He threw himself down on the bunk and put his hands behind his head, listening to the shouts and thuds from the deck above him and wondering, not for the first time, if he had been wise to return to England.
He had been in Australia for six years and had made a good life for himself. He had maintained his health and had enjoyed running his own farm in Airds, on the land granted him following his pardon. However, when Chislett’s letter had arrived, it had not taken him long to convince himself it was his duty to return.
But now he wondered what awaited him. When he had left England, the country was recovering from the long and bruising campaign against Bonaparte. Randolph had taken little interest in English affairs since leaving the country, because he had never expected to return. He had not even expected to survive.
A gentle knock on the door roused him from his reverie.
‘Excuse me, my lord, I see your valise is not yet packed. If you will allow me...’
‘Oh, yes, Joseph. Come in.’
Randolph swung his feet to the ground and watched as his man collected up the few remaining items. He wrapped the folding bootjack in a cloth and pushed it into the already bulging bag, followed by the hairbrush and comb. When he picked up a penknife, Randolph held out his hand.
‘I’ll take that, Joseph. Thank you.’ He pushed the small knife into the pocket of his coat. ‘Are you sorry to have come back to England?’
‘It makes no odds to me either way, my lord. If you’d wanted to remain at Airds, I’d have been content to see out the rest of my life there.’
‘If this current venture turns out badly, we may yet return,’ said Randolph.
‘As you wish, my lord.’
‘Confound it, Joseph, must you always be so damned cool?’
The grey-haired servant gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Why, sir, I’d not have survived so long if I’d been anything else.’
‘True!’ Randolph laughed. He rose to his feet and put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘What a sad trial I have been to you over the years, Joseph. I owe you a great deal. I should not have survived if it had not been for you. I wish you would let me—’
‘If you are going to offer me a pension for life, my lord, let me tell you now I don’t want it. Why, what should I do with myself, if I wasn’t looking after you?’
‘Aye, you’ve said that before, Joseph, but now we are back in the old country you might want to consider taking it a little easier. Settle down, perhaps. Find yourself a wife. I remember you and my sister’s maid were on good terms at one time.’
Something flickered in Miller’s eyes, but whether it was alarm, a fond memory or embarrassment, Randolph could not tell.
‘Let us get you settled first, my lord, and then we’ll see’ was all his man would say.
A voice could be heard in the passage, inviting all passengers to disembark. Joseph fastened the valise and picked it up.
‘Well, my lord, shall we go ashore?’
* * *
After so long at sea, it felt strange to Ran to have hard cobbles beneath his feet rather than wooden planking and constant movement, but he had little time to grow accustomed. The shadows were lengthening and he looked about him, his eyes coming to rest on a closed carriage with a soberly dressed figure standing by the door. Even after all these years Randolph recognised his family’s lawyer. He strode towards him, his hand held out.
‘Mr Chislett, good day to you.’
The man bowed low. ‘My lord.’
‘Come, man, take my hand,’ barked Randolph. ‘I’ve lived without ceremony for the past six years and I have no mind to begin yet, especially with such an old friend as yourself. And take note, I am travelling as plain Mr Randolph Kirkster for the moment.’
‘As you wish, sir.’ Chislett briefly shook hands, then waved towards the carriage. ‘I have only the one vehicle. We may need to hire another, if you have a deal of baggage.’
‘A couple of trunks and a few bags,’ said Randolph. ‘I think we shall manage.’
Within minutes the luggage was strapped to the coach and he and Joseph were settling themselves inside, together with Mr Chislett.
‘I have booked rooms for you at the Admiral,’ said the lawyer. ‘I am staying there myself and I hope it will suit. I thought that we might meet after breakfast tomorrow to discuss your situation.’
‘Why wait until the morning?’ said Randolph. ‘The sooner this business is concluded the better.’ He looked out of the window as the carriage began to slow. ‘Are we here already? Capital. Let us go in. Arrange dinner for the three of us in a private parlour, if you please, Mr Chislett. In, say, an hour. Joseph, I will leave you to organise our bags while I go and order hot water sent up to our rooms.’
With that he jumped out of the carriage and strode into the inn, leaving the lawyer staring in surprise after him.
Joseph Miller chuckled. ‘His Lordship’s not one to stand back and let others do all the work. Nor will he walk if he can run. Come along, Mr Chislett, let us get on with it!’
* * *
Ran sat back in his chair and gave a loud sigh of satisfaction.
‘After
months of ship’s rations, I enjoyed that meal!’
He was sitting at the table in the private parlour of the Admiral with Joseph and Mr Chislett. The dishes had been cleared away and a decanter of the landlord’s finest brandy now stood on the table beside a jug of small beer.
Miller filled two glasses with brandy and pushed one towards the lawyer.
‘You’ll be wanting to get down to business,’ he remarked, picking up the second glass and preparing to leave.
Ran waved him back to his seat. ‘No need to go, Joseph. Heaven knows I have no secrets from you.’ He poured himself a tankard of small beer and turned to the lawyer. ‘Now, Mr Chislett, if you are ready, let us proceed with the business. Perhaps you might start by explaining to me again, and not in the legal jargon you used in your letter, just how it comes about that a disgraced baron, who was transported from this country in chains, is suddenly become the Earl of Westray? The connection was never even mentioned in my family.’
Mr Chislett picked up his glass and warmed it between his hands for a moment.
‘It is a simple story, my lord, but a tragic one,’ he began. ‘The Seventh Earl had two healthy sons and three younger brothers. As a mere cousin, your grandfather never considered the title would come down through his line. The youngest brother died without issue, the second had a son who was killed at Waterloo, and still no one saw it as a cause for concern. Then the Earl’s two sons were taken—one by fever, the other in a hunting accident—and the remaining brother discovered he had left it too late to marry and have a child. Thus, when the Earl died eighteen months ago, his brother succeeded to the title, but lived to enjoy it for only a few months. The Earldom therefore falls to the next male relative. That is you, my lord. You are now the Ninth Earl.’
‘And if I do not want it?’
The Secrets of Lord Lynford Page 22
