By Love Unveiled

by Deborah Martin

  “You’ll never see that babe! The child isn’t even yours!” she spat. “And I’ll not have him raised by the likes of you!” She faced the king. “Your Majesty, my nephew speaks the truth, as does this poor innocent man here and his daughter. My husband planned the poisoning so he could regain my family home. I only learned of it recently, however—”

  “She lies!” Sir Pitney shouted. “She had as much to do with it as I! She took part in it, I swear!”

  “And have you proof?” Garett asked. “Nay, I think not. She’s just another innocent you’d have take the punishment for your crimes.”

  Lady Tearle continued, her eyes dark with hate. “I have proof, Your Majesty, of my husband’s treachery. If you’ll send your guards for a man named Ashton in my husband’s house, you may persuade him to confess how it was done. He’s my husband’s servant, and I heard him say he planted the poison himself.”

  “I’ll kill you for this, you ungrateful bitch!” Sir Pitney cried.

  “Seize him!” His Majesty ordered the guards, and they started toward Sir Pitney.

  Before anyone could stop him, Sir Pitney withdrew a short sword and lunged toward Marianne where she stood beside her father. In seconds, he had his arm about her waist and the sword at her neck.

  “If anyone tries to seize me, she dies!” he bellowed as he began dragging her toward the door.

  Marianne leaned back against Sir Pitney, away from the threatening blade.

  Garett unsheathed his own sword with a loud clang. “Harm one hair of her head, Uncle, and I’ll slice you into so many bits they’ll never find them all! Let her go!”

  Marianne felt the sword point quiver at her throat.

  “Nay!” Sir Pitney called out, backing away with her until he neared the door. “I’ll see her dead before I let them take me, you worthless cur!”

  He tried to pull Marianne back more, but she planted her feet, fighting him. If he took her from the room, all hope was lost. “Kill me now, then,” she hissed.

  “No, Mina!” Garett and her father shouted, but she ignored them. Forcing his hand was her only chance.

  “I’ll not go anywhere with you,” she told him when she felt him hesitate. “Go ahead, kill me. But be prepared to die afterward, for you know Garett will never let you live.”

  Garett stood poised, his face pale as death as he kept his eyes on the sword at Marianne’s neck.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Sir Pitney muttered, then pressed the blade against her flesh so it bit into the skin, and blood trickled down her neck.

  Garett’s face contorted with rage, but Marianne remained calm.

  “That’s just a prick!” she taunted him. “Kill me. Kill me, I say, for you’ll not get me out of here otherwise!”

  For one terrible moment, she thought he would. She held her breath, wondering, as his arm tightened on her waist and the sword pressed even closer, if she had risked too much. Then, without warning, the blade left her neck and she was pushed hard in Garett’s direction. She stumbled to the floor as Sir Pitney lunged for the entrance. But two soldiers stepped to block his path, their swords at the ready.

  Sir Pitney whirled around and darted toward another door, but this time it was Garett who blocked his path.

  “Time to give up the fight,” Garett said, brandishing his sword.

  “Never!” Like a cornered rat, Sir Pitney thrust at Garett.

  Marianne screamed, but she needn’t have worried. Garett sidestepped his uncle’s thrust easily, throwing his uncle temporarily off balance. But Sir Pitney regained his footing and held his sword once again before him with grim purpose.

  “I wish they’d murdered you instead of that servant,” he spat. “You should have died with your parents. I don’t know how you escaped, but you couldn’t have been there, or you would have been killed, too. Haven’t you ever wondered if they suffered? I could tell you—”

  Garett’s angry thrust cut off Sir Pitney’s taunts, but Sir Pitney parried it with ease.

  “Your mother begged at the end,” Sir Pitney continued. “They told me that she begged and begged.”

  Oh, Lord, he was attempting to make Garett slip and let down his guard if only for a second, but apparently Garett realized the same thing, for his face suddenly grew expressionless.

  “Mother never begged for anything,” he retorted. “But when I’m through with you, you’ll beg. Like you’ve been begging at the doors of every merchant in town, every moneylender, every—”

  Sir Pitney lunged wildly, his face mottled with rage. But Garett sidestepped the thrust, at the same time falling to one knee and bringing his sword up through Sir Pitney’s chest.

  For a moment, the two seemed suspended in space, Sir Pitney gazing at Garett with shock and horror as the sword tumbled from his fingers, and Garett staring at him with the same frightening expression.

  Then Garett withdrew his sword, and Sir Pitney fell to his knees.

  “A wretch to the end,” Sir Pitney croaked out, and Marianne wondered if he meant Garett or himself.

  Then he collapsed lifeless on the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  There’s nought but willing, waking love that can

  Make blest the ripened maid and finished man.

  —William Congreve, Love for Love

  Chaos ensued. Soldiers swarmed around Garett and the body at his feet. Lady Tearle stood in shock as the king started from his chair and went to her side. And Father moved quickly to enfold Marianne in his arms.

  “It’s all over now, Mina,” he murmured, pulling her limp form against him.

  She let him hold her a moment, wanting to soak up the comfort he offered. But she couldn’t long keep her gaze from Garett, who stood surrounded by soldiers. His face showed no relief—only a deep, dark pain.

  The king motioned for a soldier to lead Lady Tearle from the room, and she went willingly. Then he went over to Garett and the captain of the guard. They spoke a few moments in hushed tones. After that, two soldiers carried Sir Pitney away as servants scurried to clean the blood from the marble.

  Tears slid down Marianne’s cheeks. So much blood. So much sorrow, for Garett more than for her. She watched Garett as he scanned the room until his eyes locked with hers, a tender light replacing the sorrow on his face. What was to become of their love? Garett had said he’d never leave her. Still, he’d never promised to marry her, either.

  He made his way toward her and Father. As he reached them, he looked lost, as if he thought he didn’t belong there. Father loosened his hold, although he kept one arm protectively about her waist.

  “Thank you for bringing my little girl back to me,” he told Garett. “I nearly died when I thought she’d been killed.”

  Marianne felt a quick stab of remorse. “I wouldn’t have let you believe such lies, Father, if I’d known you were alive. I would never have left you alone in the Tower.”

  “Then ’tis a good thing his lordship didn’t tell you about me,” her father said in a voice choked with emotion. “Otherwise, we’d both be there together now.”

  “I doubt that,” the king said behind them. “I could never have imprisoned your pretty daughter. Once the soldiers brought her here for my questioning and she turned that innocent clear-eyed gaze on me, I’d immediately have known she spoke the truth.”

  Marianne pulled back from her father to flash the king a shy smile. Darting a sideways glance at Garett, she said, “Your Majesty is kind, but I don’t think ’twould have been that simple. It certainly wasn’t with Lord Falkham. He had trouble believing me even when I did confess the truth.”

  The flash of contrition that crossed Garett’s face made Marianne wish to take the words back.

  “Miss Winchilsea is right,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve grown suspicious of everyone through the years, even innocent young noblewomen. But it was unkind of me not to tell her about her father. I should have trusted her with that much.”

  The intent gaze with which he regarded her warmed Mar
ianne to the bone. For a moment, she forgot about anyone else in the room. “ ’Tis of no consequence now, my lord.”

  “You realize you’ve all put me in a terrible quandary,” the king interjected with a wry frown. “Lord Falkham and Sir Henry both legally own Falkham House now that Sir Henry has been cleared of all wrongdoing. So who will retain it?”

  “That should be no problem, Your Majesty,” Father said with a wink at Marianne. “Lord Falkham and I solved the matter before he left my jail cell.”

  “Oh?” the king asked. “And what solution do you propose?”

  “I think first I should speak with—” Garett began.

  “I only intended to keep the estate as my legacy to my daughter,” Father went on. “I prefer to remain in London if Your Majesty will allow me to return as your physician. His lordship can retain Falkham House, which in any case is rightfully his. What’s more, I need not worry about Marianne’s legacy, because his lordship has agreed to marry her, which should take care of the problem admirably.”

  Marianne’s mouth went completely dry. Her eyes widened as she glanced at Garett in clear surprise. Garett watched her, a guarded expression on his face.

  “We’ve already briefly discussed the settlement,” her father continued, “and I believe we can come to some amicable agreement without much problem.”

  “Now that is an expert solution,” the king remarked. “And I must say it would please me to see one of my favorite subjects married to such a beautiful, brave young woman.”

  Marianne scarcely noted the compliment, for her heart was pounding. Marry Garett? That would be as close to heaven as she could reach.

  Then the rest of her father’s words sank in. Garett would have Falkham House, of course.

  Doubt assailed her. Surely that had played no part in his agreeing to marry her. Then again, Garett always got what he wanted, and he wanted Falkham House very badly.

  “Have I no say in this, Father?” she asked. “Am I to be married just like that without even being consulted, merely to solve the problem of an estate with two owners?”

  Her father looked instantly uncomfortable. Another man might have told her she would do as he said because he was her father, but Father had always been a more lenient sort. “But I thought—”

  He broke off at the sound of the king’s loud chortle. “This is very interesting, Falkham. Apparently the lady doesn’t care about your superior title and ever-increasing wealth.” He turned to Marianne. “Don’t you wish to marry Lord Falkham?”

  She reddened as Garett’s face turned stony. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but she couldn’t marry him if he wanted her only for the estate.

  The king’s eyes darkened, and his smile vanished. “He didn’t force his attentions on you, did he?”

  “Attentions?” her father queried with a frown, for he hadn’t been present during the earlier discussion about her being Garett’s mistress.

  “No, no, Your Majesty,” she hastened to assure him as she avoided her father’s gaze. “Of course not. But I would have wished—”

  “Your Majesty,” Garett interrupted. “If I could have a moment alone with Miss Winchilsea, I believe we could clear up any misunderstandings.”

  “Could you indeed?” the king remarked, immensely amused. “All right, then. That is, if the lady so wishes to remain with you here.”

  “Marianne?” Father asked. “May his lordship speak with you alone a moment?”

  “Of course.” If Garett spoke of the financial advantages their union would bring, it would destroy her. Yet the way he looked at her…

  She would eternally regret it if she didn’t allow him to state his case.

  The king accompanied her father from the room, speaking to him in low whispers interspersed with the occasional chuckle. Then she and Garett were alone, the room completely silent.

  She gazed down at her hands, uncertain where to begin. “My lord, you mustn’t feel it’s necessary to marry me to keep Falkham House. I know what my father said, but I don’t want it, and I’d be more than content to live here in London with him.”

  “Would you?” Garett said in a husky rasp as he took a step toward her. “You could be happy here, living for no one but your father all your life?” He hesitated. “Or perhaps you don’t intend that,” he added, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “Perhaps you’ve an eye for some other gentleman—someone more lively, like Hampden.”

  Tears flooded her vision so she could hardly see. “No, no one else.”

  He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry, my gypsy princess. You’ll break my heart. And I can’t afford that, for I only have one, and it belongs to you.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “Please don’t say such things if you don’t mean them.”

  “Ah, but I’ve never meant anything more.” He brushed her tears away with one finger. “I know you’re angry with me for not telling you of your father. You have every right to be hurt, but I swear I’ll make it up to you if you’ll just marry me. I want you to be my wife, Mina. And not because I wish to keep Falkham House, either.”

  “Then why?” she asked, needing the words, feeling as if she’d die if he couldn’t speak them.

  He smiled then. For the first time since she’d known him, she could truly say he looked like the boy Garett she’d imagined all those years before.

  “Because you’re sweet and kind. Because my tenants adore you, and my valet and your aunt would undoubtedly kill me if I left you here.”

  She couldn’t suppress a quick smile.

  His eyes darkened to the color of midnight rain. “And because I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. More than my estates or even my revenge against my uncle.” He swallowed hard. “But most of all because I love you. I didn’t realize it until today when I talked to your father, but I felt it long before.”

  Her heart swelled with joy. At last she’d found a way through all the barriers to his heart. After all the distrust, all the fear, he was hers.

  “Well?” he asked as she stared up at him with shining eyes. “Can you find it in your heart to love a reprobate like me, with scars and old wounds always giving me something to grumble about?”

  She raised herself on tiptoe to press her lips sweetly to his. “Perhaps in time, my lord—” she teased.

  He growled and forced her mouth back up against his, kissing her with such passion that he left her weak in his arms. “Say it,” he whispered when he’d torn his lips from hers. “Say it, Mina!”

  “I love you,” she admitted. “I’ve loved you so long, my poor, dear exile.”

  “And you’ll marry me,” he added in a tone that brooked no argument.

  “And I’ll marry you,” she repeated.

  Then her mouth was once again smothered by his.

  At that moment the king and her father thrust their heads inside the room to see how matters were coming along. Father bristled immediately, ready to put an end to what he saw, but the king pulled him back with a smile on his face.

  “Don’t worry,” the king whispered. “I think they have matters quite in hand.” Then he nodded Father from the room and followed him out, shutting the door behind him.

  Epilogue

  Father! Mother! Look what me and Aunt Tamara found!”

  Garett turned to see his daughter, Beatrice, come skipping across the grass toward where he stood beneath an apple tree.

  Tamara followed more slowly behind the four-year-old, who clutched something black in her tiny fist and waved it like a banner over her head.

  “What is it?” Marianne asked from her seat on the ground next to where Garett stood. Her face was wreathed in smiles.

  Garett felt his breath catch in his throat as he gazed down at her tawny hair and her face aglow with the knowledge that her next child—their next child—would soon arrive.

  Beatrice stopped before her parents, all out of breath. She looked up at Garett, the winsome smile on her
face reminding him so much of Marianne that he instantly felt the same stab of protectiveness he always felt for his wife.

  Gently he ruffled his daughter’s hair. “What have you there, poppet?”

  Her soft blue eyes alight, she held out the crumpled piece of black silk. Garett smiled as he recognized it, then glanced at Marianne.

  “My mask,” Marianne murmured. “Where did you find it?”

  Kneeling beside her mother, Beatrice laid it on Marianne’s lap, smoothing it out reverently. “ ’Twas in a box of old clothes. Aunt Tamara said I could play with them ’til Uncle Will came to fetch her. Then we found this!” She looked up into her mother’s face. “Aunt Tamara said it was yours once.”

  “Aye,” Garett told his daughter. “Your mother wore it the first time I saw her.” An image flashed before him of Marianne in Mr. Tibbett’s shop. How vividly he remembered his first glimpse of her defiant hazel eyes through the slits in the mask.

  Marianne looked up at him now and smiled. She, too, remembered. He laid his hand on her shoulder, pleased when she laid her hand on his.

  “Why did Mother wear a mask?” Beatrice asked him.

  “She didn’t want me to see her beautiful face, dearling,” Garett answered with a chuckle. “She knew the minute I saw it I’d want to marry her.”

  Tamara’s snort reminded Garett of her presence. “She knew you’d be wanting something else, I’m thinking,” she said dryly.

  The quick blush that suffused Marianne’s face brought forth another chuckle from Garett. “Aye,” he agreed and squeezed her shoulder.

  “You two shouldn’t say such things in front of Beatrice,” Marianne protested as she tried to smother a laugh.

  But Beatrice had hardly noticed the exchange, let alone understood it. One of the dogs from the rebuilt kennels went racing by, and she jumped to her feet to run laughing after it, the mask suddenly forgotten.

  “I’ll get her,” Tamara muttered as she lifted her skirts and walked briskly after Beatrice, scolding her all the way.