by Anne Gracie
Grace hugged her friend. “Oh, Melly, I’m so happy for you both! But when did this all happen?”
“Just after you and Lord D’Acre left. Apparently Frey and he had an argument about the plans Lord D’Acre had for me after our wedding. Frey said he just couldn’t get them out of his mind. He was absolutely furious. And then last week at church, he realized what the matter was.”
Grace smiled. “That he loved you and wanted you for himself.”
“Yes. I can’t believe it. He wants me!” She clutched Grace’s hands tightly and said in a stunned voice, “Grace, he says he thinks I am beautiful.”
Grace looked at Melly’s glowing face. It was as if someone had lit a candle inside her. “And so you are beautiful, Melly, love.” But she was still puzzled. “But I have to say, I’m surprised your father allowed it.”
Melly sobered a little. “Well, that day after church, Frey was still in a temper. He just strode into Papa’s room and shouted at him. Frey told Papa it was wicked what Papa was doing to me and he said he loved me and wanted to marry me, even though he didn’t have any money.” She sighed dreamily.
“So what happened then?” Grace prompted.
“Well, nothing. Papa said no. But three days later Frey’s uncle, the bishop, arrived out of the blue. Frey had no idea he was coming. And the bishop spoke to Papa for a long time and when he came out he told Frey he was going to increase his allowance to a much more generous one—and make a separate allowance to Frey’s mother. And then Papa agreed to let me marry Frey. And then Lord D’Acre arrived, and Papa told him he should marry you, and he said yes, he was going to.”
“How amazing,” Grace exclaimed. “What do you think the bishop and your father talked about?”
“Well Frey did ask Papa afterward, and Papa just tapped the side of his nose and said something about youthful sins coming back to haunt the bishop and causing a sudden surge of generosity.” She wrinkled her nose. “It made no sense to me at all, but Frey thought it was very funny.”
Melly heaved a sigh of happiness. “So everything has turned out wonderfully well. Even Papa’s health has improved. Soon we think he will be well enough to leave his bed.”
“Excellent! I’m so happy for you, love.” Grace embraced her friend and stood up. “Now, let us return to your party.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The horizon all around me
breathed out perfume
announcing her arrival
as the fragrance precedes a flower.
IBN SAFR AL-MARINI, POET OF ANDALUSIA
DOMINIC SPENT MOST OF THE NEXT DAY OUT SEEING TO VARIOUS arrangements—legal matters, estate matters, wedding arrangements, guest accommodation, and organizing his honeymoon.
Grace spent most of the day with her sisters and Aunt Gussie and a London modiste brought down especially for her wedding dress. It might be a short engagement period and a wedding in an obscure village church, but Aunt Gussie was not going to allow the last of the Merridew Diamonds to be married in anything less than the best.
Grace, however, took a little time out to make a few arrangements of her own with Abdul and the Tickel girls.
It was extremely late by the time Dominic got home.
At the front entry hall he paused. What was that on the floor? When he’d first arrived this entryway had been adrift with dead leaves. He bent to see what was scattered across the marble flags. Rose petals. How peculiar.
He picked up a few and smelled them. Rose with a hint of citrus. He smiled.
He glanced up at the gargoyle. “Do you know anything about this?” Dammit, even he was talking to statues now.
He turned to climb the stairs and saw more rose petals, one or two on each step. They led all the way up to the top; a wavering line of rose petals. Like a pathway or trail.
He followed them, his feet stepping in the hollows made by his ancestors.
They led along the passageway and stopped at the door of his bedchamber. He opened it, and saw his room had been turned into a tent. Swathes of colorful, gauzy cloth hung from a centerpoint in the ceiling, and fell in graceful sweeps to the walls. Rose petals led to an entrance.
He followed them and slowly parted the curtains.
Curled up on his bed on an acre of white cotton sheeting lay Miss Grace Merridew, clad in nothing but rose petals. His heart was full to bursting, but he managed to say, “Is this a houri which I see before me?”
“No, it’s me,” Grace answered. “And hurry up. These rose petals are actually quite clammy!”
With a joyous laugh Dominic bounded into bed.
“THEY WHAT?” DOMINIC SAT UP IN BED, SHOCKED.
“They planned to buy Wolfestone. And give it to us as a wedding present.”
“But they couldn’t!”
Grace smiled. “Of course they could. They’re not related to you at all.”
“I didn’t mean that, I mean—It would cost a huge sum.”
“They’re all rich.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, confused. “But why would they do such a thing?”
She stared at him, puzzled. “So that we could get married, of course.”
“But we were getting married anyway!”
“Yes, but they didn’t want you to lose Wolfestone.”
Dominic grappled to make sense of his feelings. “Why would they care?”
She stared at him confused. And then it hit her. He had a great deal of pride. And a different experience of family. She slipped her arms around him. “They’re my family, Dominic. They wanted us to be as happy as they are. Great Uncle Oswald is really disappointed he can’t buy us an estate now. He loves grand gestures.”
Dominic chuckled. “So I noticed in the church yesterday.”
She giggled.
“Frey will have standing room only in his church for months to come,” he told her. “Do you know, Grandad Tasker congratulated him—told him that going to church at St. Stephens was as good as a circus.”
AROUND MIDNIGHT GRACE STRETCHED LIKE A SATISFIED CAT AND said, “I’m hungry. I wasn’t hungry before—only for you—but now I’m starving.”
Dominic sat up. “I’ll fetch some food from the kitchen.”
“I’m coming, too.” She climbed out of bed and donned an assortment of clothing and like naughty children, she and Dominic tiptoed hand in hand down the hallway. As they came to the stairs they heard odd sounds from above.
“What’s that?” Grace asked.
“Oh, Abdul has taken up residence in the turret,” he informed her. Deep masculine groans accompanied by feminine laughter drifted down. At least two different feminine laughs. Possibly three.
Dominic frowned. “What the devil is he up to?” he muttered.
“I know,” she informed him. “Abdul is rejoicing.”
“Rejoicing?” Puzzled, he looked at her.
“‘Rejoicing in the compassion of Dominic Wolfe,’” she quoted and laughed. “Come on, hurry up. I want food and then I might rejoice with Dominic Wolfe myself.”
DESPITE THE FACT THAT IT WAS A HURRIED AFFAIR, THE WEDDING was the finest affair the village of Lower Wolfestone had seen in generations. The castle was crowded with guests—more toffs in their fine London hats than Grandad Tasker could poke a stick at.
Abdul the Turk had even moved out of the tower apartment in order to make room for the guests. That’s what Abdul claimed, anyway. The village was of the opinion that it was to avoid scandalizing the London toffs. Easily shocked, toffs were, it was agreed.
Abdul and all three of the Tickel girls had taken possession of the gatehouse. ’Twas a scandal all right, the village agreed, but what could ye expect of a heathen Turk and the poor, lost Tickel girls who’d been robbed of their morals when they were wee babes and washed in Gwydion’s Pool.
Besides, if there was going to be a scandal in a village, it might as well be a good, big, juicy one, they agreed. And the Tickel girls were nothing if not juicy!
The new vicar didn’t
perform the service-well, him only being married for a week himself, it was understandable. His uncle, the bishop, stayed on and married the Wolfe and his Lady, as well. Two weddings in a week!
The Lady’s sisters were there, each one more beautiful than the last, and the ones called Miss Cassie and Miss Dorie were her bridesmaids, with the vicar’s wife matron of honor and the vicar being best man.
The vicar’s father-in-law was there and all, in his wheeled chair. Granny’s poultices had brought up a lovely tumor and once it busted, the old man was on the mend again. And there was a gaggle of young flower girls and pageboys—the lady’s nieces and nephews.
Something odd happened in the service. After the bishop had declared them husband and wife, and let no man put them asunder, he held out his hands and said, “And let us now all rejoice,” and the bride fell to giggling and couldn’t stop for ages.
When the bride and groom came out of the church everyone chucked rose petals. Word had gone around they were her favorites, so everyone had been saving them for the occasion. Lovely they were, too.
A small squabble had broken out among a few of the women after the bride passed by with her veil back so you could see her proper. Mrs. Parry reckoned her buttermilk was responsible, but Mrs. Tickel reckoned ’twas her lemons that done the trick. Granny shut them both up—it was water from Gwydion’s Pool, she said—and Granny knows!
After the church there was feasting and music and dancing—one party for the villagers in the castle courtyard and one inside for the toffs as well. Grand, it was.
But the best thing about the wedding was the end. The bride and groom came out from the castle, all ready to go off on their honeymoon, and what do you think was waiting for them? A camel! A proper one with a hump and all.
The beast got down on its knees and the Wolfe and his Lady climbed up on it—the Lady giggling fit to bust and kissing her new husband like she’d been bathed in Gwydion’s Pool and all! And then the great beast rose to its feet and off it went with the Wolfe and his Lady, riding off into the sunset, laughing and waving . . .
Alexandria, someone said they were off to. Up past Shrewsbury, someone said that was.
Epilogue
Live well. It is the greatest revenge.
THE TALMUD
“EVEN THE EMINENTLY SENSIBLE SWALLOWS GO FROM ENGLAND to Egypt in the winter,” Dominic said. “And yet we go the other way around! It’s freezing! Why you wanted to leave glorious, sunny Egypt to come back to cold and gloomy old Wolfestone is beyond me!”
She smiled from her nest of rugs. “You’ll see.”
She peered out of the window eagerly. “Look, there’s Granny Wigmore’s. And there’s a sign hanging at her gate. What does it say?”
They pressed against the window to read it.
GRANNY WIGMORE POTIONS TO THE GENTRY
Grace giggled. “Potions to the gentry! What on earth does that mean?”
The coach and four reached the open iron gates and passed without a pause between the two snarling stone wolves.
As they turned the last corner, Wolfestone came into sight, blazing with light in the late December gloom. Candles burned in every window, the doorway was festooned with greenery, and the wolf ’s head knocker was surrounded by a wreath of fresh holly and ivy.
“What the devil—?” Dominic began.
The door was flung open and golden light spilled out, welcoming them. Sheba came first, a streak of white, wriggling and ecstatic at her master’s return, followed by a throng of happy well-wishers. For a moment Dominic wondered whether his honeymoon had been a dream—all of Grace’s family was here.
But he and Grace had watched the moon rise over the pyramids. And they’d sailed into Venice at dawn. They’d kissed in front of the Sphinx. Not a dream, but a dream come true.
“Happy Christmas, Dominic,” Grace told him as they were swept inside. To Dominic’s amazement, all of Grace’s family was there, even the children. And every single one of them hugged or kissed him as if it was perfectly normal, as if he was part of their family.
“I hope you don’t mind us invading you,” Prudence told him. “But we always have Christmas together and Grace told us she wanted to spend her first Christmas with you here at Wolfestone.”
“You’re most welcome,” Dominic managed to say.
The inside of his house was festooned with greenery. A huge yule log was burning in the sitting room. The air was filled with the scent of pine and spices.
“Hot mulled wine coming up,” declared Gideon as he plunged a red-hot poker into a large bowl of spiced wine.
“Dinner will be in an hour,” Prudence told them. “I’m so glad you got here in time. We were worried that snow might prevent you from getting here.”
After dinner the whole family sat around the fire, watching the yule log burn and singing Christmas carols. Dominic didn’t know the words. Ten-year-old Aurora watched him for a while, then climbed off her father’s lap and plopped herself on Dominic’s, saying, “Here, Uncle Dominic, I’ll help you,” and for the rest of the evening she showed him the words from her little book of carols.
It was a scene of perfect peace and family togetherness and as the last carol came to a close, young Jamie Carradice called out, “Look, everyone, it’s snowing!”
Through the windows they could see snow drifting down light and powdery. And it was Christmas Eve.
Dominic passed the next day in a daze. He spent what time he could in the library, going through the correspondence that had accumulated in his absence.
After church, everyone came to dinner. Frey brought Melly, rounded and beautiful, glowing with early pregnancy. Sir John came in a bath chair, declaring his determination to live to meet his first grandchild. The house rang with children’s shouts and laughter.
People hugged Dominic and kissed Dominic and gave him presents. And he ate like he’d never eaten before.
And after dinner there was snow to be dealt with—a snowman to be made and snowballs to be thrown. The air was filled with the sounds of shrieks and giggles and splats. And after that it was back inside for hot chocolate and Christmas cake.
Dominic’s first English Christmas, with a family that made it clear he was a valued member, and in the house he’d hated most of his life but which had, miraculously, become the home of his heart.
That night in bed, he held his wife tight and gave thanks for the greatest gift of all—Grace.
The next day was Boxing Day and it turned out Grace had also left instructions about that, before they’d left on their honeymoon: a party for everyone on the estate.
“And we give each family a Christmas box,” Grace explained to him. She showed him. “In each is a little money and perhaps some food or clothing—a little something to help them through the winter months, and to give thanks.”
Dominic saw the box with “The Finn Family” written on it. “Don’t give that one out until last,” he said and hurried off to the library. He found the official-looking letter with the government seal on it and slipped it into the Finns’ box.
The villagers came and the party was a great success. Dominic let Grace give out the boxes; the villagers loved their Lady; it was right that she gave out the boxes.
Granny came up to fetch hers. “Not sure I need no box, though I’ll take it with thanks. Did ye see me sign? I got toffs coming from London to ask me advice and buy me potions!” she told them proudly. “Pay a fortune they will, for herbs I pick for naught! That Sir John, he writ letters to everyone!”
“That’s marvelous, Granny!” Grace hugged her.
Jake Tasker came diffidently up to receive the box for his family. It was a lot smaller than the others. He took it from Grace and shook it, frowning. Suspicion writ large on his face, he opened the small box and took out a key.
“What’s this?”
Dominic stepped forward and looked at it. “Looks like the key to the estate manager’s house.”
Jake gave him a hard look. “And what would
I be wanting with a key to Mr. Eades’s house?”
Dominic said, “The house doesn’t belong to Eades, it belongs to the man who is managing my estate.”
Jake frowned. “But I’ve been doing that.”
“Exactly.” As the realization dawned on Jake’s face, Dominic grinned.
Dominic raised his voice slightly, well aware that all the tenants in the hall were stretching their ears to follow the conversation. And this was news they all needed to hear. “Besides, Mr. Eades won’t be needing it. In fact Mr. Eades is not allowed to have any keys where he is.”
“Where is he, m’lord?” shouted Grandad Tasker.
Dominic looked around the room, at the eager faces of all the Wolfestone people. The people whose fates were tied with his own. His people. He announced it loud and clear: “Mr. Eades is rotting in Newgate Prison, awaiting trial for what he did to you all—us all. Most of what he stole from the estate has been recovered and will be used to make improvements on everyone’s land. Wolfestone estate is going to be a force to be reckoned with.”
A huge cheer went up.
After the noise had died down, Dominic continued, “And I’d be well pleased if Jake Tasker would accept the position of estate manager permanently.”
Jake shook his hand fiercely and said over the renewed cheering, “I will and all, m’lord. Thank you!”
There was only one box to go. Billy Finn waited with his mother and brothers and sisters, eyeing it excitedly. Every box that had gone to a family with children had contained sweets as well.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Finn,” said Grace as she gave the gaunt woman the box. Mrs. Finn opened it and bemused, took out the big, official-looking letter. She looked fearfully at Grace. “It ain’t an eviction, is it?”
