“I understand, Sir James,” Mirabel said.
He started toward the door but stopped in front of Thea. “Please take care of my friend Lyon. His is a troubled soul.”
“I shall endeavor to do so,” she responded, placing her hand in his.
“It won’t be smooth going,” he predicted and then, with a bow, left the room.
Thea frowned, not pleased to have her joy in the day spoiled by Sir James’s dire prediction.
Mirabel took her by the elbow and steered her toward the buffet. “He must be referring to the carryings-on of the Mmes. Pomfreys and Lady Montvales of the world. Pay him no mind. Lyon can handle the gossips, and so can you. Come, let us eat.”
But Thea held back. “Where is Lyon?” she asked.
“He could still be abed,” Mirabel answered, moving toward the sideboard. “Do you care for bacon?”
Thea didn’t answer but walked out into the hall. Osgood was in the front hall, having seen Sir James on his way. She approached him. “Have you seen Lord Lyon?”
“Yes, ma’am. He went riding early this morning.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning back to the dining room. It was a beautiful day, and it would not have been out of character for Neal to want to take advantage of the weather and ride.
Still, she had hoped he would be as anxious to see her as she was him.
Thea tried to put any disquieting thoughts from her mind. Mirabel waited by the dining room door, her half-filled plate in her hand. Thea forced a smile and came to join her, but she didn’t have much of an appetite for food. Her stomach was unsettled by doubt.
After breakfast, Thea attempted to focus on a book and some correspondence. Time passed slowly.
In the afternoon, a rider came. It was the servant Neal had sent to arrange for the special license. He had been successful in his mission and had the license signed by the bishop . . . but there was no sign of Neal.
Mirabel kept up a running dialogue, mostly with herself, since Thea grew more introspective as the afternoon wore on, but even she was starting to worry.
“He wouldn’t leave you,” Mirabel burst out at one point after a half hour of silence between them. “Lyon is more of a man than that. He’s not a jilt.”
Thea looked up from the book she’d been staring at without comprehending any of the words. “He has before.”
“When?” Mirabel demanded.
“Years ago. When we first met. We were friends for weeks and growing closer. We met at this clearing by a stream that bordered our two properties. Then one day, he stopped coming. No note, no anything. Seeing him in Sir James’s office was the first time our paths crossed in years.”
“Were you in love back in those days?”
Mirabel’s question gave Thea pause. Had she been in love with him? Certainly she’d been deeply hurt when he’d left without a word.
“No,” Thea said. “We were children, really. Very young, very protected. Our friendship was innocent. We felt free to speak our minds to each other.”
“Sometimes that is how the best relationships start,” Mirabel said. She set aside her needlework and leaned forward, reaching out to place a hand on Thea’s arm. “When I first heard you were to find a wife for Lyon, I thought you should be that wife out of a strictly practical sense. Thea, you are well bred, intelligent, lovely—what man wouldn’t want you?”
“Spoken like a true friend,” Thea murmured.
“But when I saw you here together over the past few days, there is something between the two of you. His gaze would drift toward you when he didn’t think anyone would notice, and he always stood so that he could keep his eye on you. Thea, he didn’t have to announce he was marrying you last night—”
“He was worried for my reputation.”
Mirabel dismissed the suggestion away with her hand as she sat up. “Explanations could have been offered, and those women would have sewed their lips shut over what they’d seen if he had chosen one of their daughters. Please listen to what I’m saying. There is an attraction between you and Lyon, one that I think may be quite rare. People wax on about love and how they would spend lifetimes looking for ‘the one,’ but in truth most of us never do. We settle. We accept because, perhaps, we give up the dream of one special person just for us.” She paused, pressing her lips together before confessing, “Palmer was that for me. He was a far better man than I deserved. He loved more than I could ever love him—until I lost him. Thea, sometimes life works in our favor. Fate may be giving the two of you a second chance.”
Thea shook her head. “Fate? Some supernatural force, or being? I don’t believe that things beyond our control influence our lives. It may be just happenstance that my path crossed with Lyon’s. Or it might be that London is really not that big a world. Sooner or later we would meet because that is reality.”
Mirabel snorted her discontent. “You are the most unromantic creature ever.”
“If you are asking me to believe in fantasy, well, yes, you may be right.”
“Then what do you believe in?”
“I believe in common sense and being reasonable. We live in modern times. I ran away once over love . . . and it turned out to not be what I’d been led to believe because of unfounded romantic notions—”
The front door opened. Osgood could be heard greeting someone. It was Neal. He’d returned.
A hard knot formed in Thea’s stomach. She wasn’t certain whether she was glad he’d come back or frightfully angry that he had been gone so long without explanation.
A beat later, Neal appeared at the door. He was in riding clothes, buff breeches, a jacket of the deepest blue wool, and spurs on his boots. His neckcloth was not knotted but tied in a hasty, devil-may-care manner.
Thea didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Any words would give away her secret fear that he’d abandoned her again.
“Why, Lord Lyon,” Mirabel said brightly, “you appear to have enjoyed an extensive ride.”
He barely acknowledged her words with a nod, his gaze intent on Thea. “I need to return to London,” he said.
Thea felt her heart harden. He was going to jilt her.
In her continued silence, he said, “We need to marry tomorrow morning. I have arranged for a Reverend Wells from the local parish to officiate. Osgood tells me the license has already been delivered.”
Tomorrow morning? “What of my sons?” Thea heard herself say. “Should they not hear of us wedding before we do so? I should have written a note to them, but I didn’t.”
“Tomorrow, Thea. We must wed as soon as possible,” he repeated.
She rose from her chair. “My lord, are you all right?”
“I am.” His gaze shifted away from her when he spoke.
“Perhaps—,” she started, thinking to argue him out of this undue haste when suddenly he walked the space of floor between then in four strides, took her by the arms and kissed her.
Thea wasn’t expecting a kiss, and it wasn’t a kiss that said he liked her or he was angry. No, this kiss was a plea for understanding, of needing her trust.
Doubts dissolved when he kissed her this way. She knew enough of marriage to know a kiss was often the best form of communication. She slid her arms around his neck, eager to let him know she cared, that she had worried.
He smelled of horses, fresh air, and a warm, almost spicy scent that was all his own. His body was solid and strong.
She felt his tongue brush hers, followed it with her own because it felt exactly right. They breathed the same air, had the same needs, were both alone and confused, and, yes, a little afraid.
Neal ended the kiss before she was ready to let go. His arms slid down to her waist. He held her, but shadows lingered in his eyes. “We will marry tomorrow. If I could, I would wed you this night.”
She wanted to banish her doubts. She tried to kee
p her voice light as she said, “Why do I sense you are in danger of losing courage, my lord?”
“I’m here, Thea. I’m here for you.” He stepped away, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her fingers.
This wasn’t what Thea wanted to hear. It wasn’t enough. But before she could collect the courage to speak, he turned to Mirabel. “I hope this isn’t upsetting your plans for this evening, my lady?”
Mirabel had been watching them kiss, one hand up to her chest and a look of wonder on her face. “Upsetting? My lord, I am honored to have you marry my wonderful friend here under my roof.”
“I must change,” he said, backing away and holding his hands out to show the damage of hours of riding. Hours he’d probably spent weighing whether or not he would go through with their marriage.
Pride warred with common sense inside Thea. He’d come back.
Yes, she wanted him.
There was a connection between them, and she could not let it go.
But she also wanted something more.
He left the room, taking her silence as assent. Mirabel practically danced up to her. “I’m so excited. Aren’t you excited?”
“I’m confused. He doesn’t seem happy.”
“He seems happy enough,” Mirabel said gaily. She took Thea by the shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the door. “Come, we don’t have long to make you into the prefect bride. Let us go see what is in my closet.” She started forward, but Thea resisted.
“This is too quick, Mirabel.”
Her friend sighed her frustration. “Is this coming from a woman who had the audacity to elope?”
“And suffered a bad marriage for it.”
“Do you believe this will be a bad marriage?”
“No, I love him—” Thea broke off, startled by the words that had just flowed easily from her lips.
She turned, considered her words, her feelings . . .
Love was a complicated thing. And what she felt for Neal was different from what she’d felt for her husband. She’d thought she’d loved Boyd, but it had been a passionate, impulsive thing.
Her passion, her lust for Neal was real, stronger even than what her younger self had felt for her husband. But it also went beyond the physical.
She respected Neal. Admired him. Even thought him the most worthy of gentlemen in her acquaintance, and she realized that, unawares, she’d held him as a standard against whom she’d held up every male she’d known since, including Boyd. Unfortunately time and Boyd’s disappointments and vices had not weathered well during their short marriage. She’d lost her respect for Boyd, and love couldn’t continue or grow without it.
Thea didn’t believe she could ever lose her respect for Neal.
“I love him,” she repeated, sampling the statement in her own mind and discovering it was true. “I. Love. Him.”
Mirabel dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Anyone with half a brain could see you did. Especially after last night.”
Heat rushed to Thea’s cheeks. Mirabel laughed and tugged on her arm, but still Thea resisted.
“He doesn’t love me. He won’t,” Thea said. “All because of this curse. He’ll be like he is right now. For the duration of our marriage.”
“As long as he can be as he was in your bedroom last night, you, my dear, will not have any worries.”
“But what if—”
“No, Thea, no more questions. So he sees something you don’t—”
“You don’t find that mad, or at the least odd?”
Mirabel gave her a look as old as time. “Most of us have some madness in us. We believe what we believe.”
“I’m not like that—,” Thea started to protest.
“No, you are just expecting love to betray you. You had a bad marriage to a man who turned out not to be what you thought he was. But at some point, Thea, you must trust someone. And remember, one rarely has the opportunity to follow one’s heart. Follow your heart. Grab on to this with both hands, my friend.”
“My heart betrayed me once before,” Thea said.
“Did it? Or were you just not listening to what it was really saying before you made your choice? You are very headstrong, Thea. Be careful you aren’t being foolishly independent.” Mirabel took a step toward the door. “Furthermore, you have your sons to think of now.”
Her sons. Their lives would be so much better under Lyon’s protection—and Mirabel knew it.
Thea began following Mirabel to the door. “Do you believe I can defeat this curse he believes in?” she asked.
“My dear, I believe love can do anything.”
Chapter Twelve
Love could do anything.
Mirabel’s declaration challenged Thea. It reverberated in her mind as she dressed and prepared to wed Neal.
The ceremony took place in an ancient chapel on the abbey’s estate as close to noon as possible. The Reverend Mr. Wells could not arrive sooner.
Thea had spent the night in her bed alone. She had not known where Neal had been. After insisting that they marry with all haste, he’d disappeared up to his room. Of course, Mirabel had kept Thea so busy with arrangements for the ceremony that she’d not had time to worry and had fallen asleep, exhausted—but at peace with the decision.
The chapel had been rebuilt centuries before with small windows, so that it could be dark and confining, especially on an overcast morning such as this one. Mirabel had seen to it that lit candles lined the stone altar and filled the tables along the walls, so that the room glowed with warm, flickering light.
Theirs was a small gathering. Mirabel and her servants served as witnesses.
Neal looked inordinately handsome in black formal dress.
Thea wore a gown of the finest muslin in a pale shade of yellow that she had borrowed from Mirabel’s closet. Her hair had been fashioned on top of her head instead of her customary knot at the base of her neck. Mirabel had wanted to loan Thea her diamond pins. Thea had politely refused and instead had fashioned a tiara of roses from the bush by the estate’s gardens.
Now, as she stood before Reverend Wells, a rather portly man with tufts of hair over his ears, spectacles on his nose, and a strong sense of how important this particular marriage would be in London, Thea pledged her troth to Neal. She spoke the words of the Book of Common Prayer, repeating after Reverend Wells, but the whole time Neal did not look at her.
His stubbornness angered her. He made his vows but did so with the joy of a man facing the gallows. When Mr. Wells announced they were man and wife and could seal their vows with a kiss, Neal barely let his lips touch hers.
And then they were in the dining room, just the reverend, Mirabel, and themselves for the wedding meal.
Neal seemed to relax. He was charming, thoughtful, entertaining, but distant to Thea.
At last she could take his bewildering behavior no longer.
“Reverend Wells, does the church still perform exorcisms?” she asked.
Now she had Lyon’s attention.
The good reverend apparently dearly adored having his opinion requested on ecclesiastical matters. He pushed up his spectacles in a scholarly fashion and launched into his esteemed opinion. “The church has a rite, but it is not called upon often. I have not been a party to any, and I daresay the bishop hasn’t either, although the devil is amongst us.”
For a second, the air in the room seemed to shift as if clouds had covered the sun, blocking its rays from the window before drifting away . . . except this day was not a sunny day.
Or was she being unusually fanciful? “How would one remove the devil?” Thea pressed on.
“Is this really a good conversation for a wedding feast?” Lyon said quietly.
“Of course it is, my lord,” Thea answered. Superstition aside, she had his attention now, and she was going to keep it. “P
lease, Reverend, continue.”
The clergyman removed his glasses and rubbed his nose before saying, “Historically church leaders have wanted us to believe the devil is a supernatural being. Something separate and apart from us. However, I hold to the more modern understanding that the devil is really the evil inside all of us. We make our own ‘devil.’ Take Bonaparte. He has been the mastermind behind a monstrous evil that has toppled governments and cost countless lives. Does that make him a devil? Only God knows. But in my humble opinion, I believe him to be one.”
Thea was not interested in Napoleon. “What of curses, Mr. Wells. Can the church remove curses?”
His response was to burst out in laughter. “Curses? Why would we remove curses? The idea of a curse is an antiquated notion. It is the device of the uneducated mind. We now know someone can’t put an evil eye out on another person with just a few words of mumbo jumbo. So there is no need of the church to provide protection. Tell me, are you afraid of curses, Lady Lyon?”
Thea shrugged. “I am merely curious.” Mirabel had a very pained expression on her face. She was not pleased with Thea’s line of questions. Thea dared not look to Neal, but she hoped she had made her point.
Mirabel cleared her throat and changed the topic. “Would you like more port, Reverend?”
“Oh, no, I must be on my way. Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Palmer.” He rose from the table, Neal rising with him. “And my heartiest congratulations to both you and your lady, Lord Lyon. It has been an honor.”
“Thank you,” Neal said. “Let me see you to the door.”
The second the men left the room, Mirabel waved the servants from the room before leaning across the table. “Are you mad?” she demanded of Thea.
“No, determined.”
“This is your wedding night, and if you want to spend it battling your husband, you are a fool.”
Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books) Page 16
