Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Rafe watched Elizabeth dancing with James Dinsmore at Lord and Lady Landsdownes’s ball.
The whole world, it seemed, knew he and Alexandre de La Brou would be wed in one month’s time.
The ceremony, after much discussion, was to be at Lady Melbourne’s, though he would have preferred Moreham House.
Still, the important thing was that everyone knew Alexandre de La Brou belonged with him.
All evening he’d had his hand shaken and his back slapped by well-wishers, though he noticed with a bit of amusement that Lord Minton and Major Harris had been rather slow to offer their congratulations.
He’d heard a rumor that Minton had composed a mournful ode bemoaning his loss, entitled Silver Tears.
Thinking of it, Rafe couldn’t help a snort of laughter.
“You’re in fine spirits,” Cole Davenport remarked, strolling up beside him.
“Understandably, considering you’ve managed to find your way back into your wife’s good graces.
Though how such a lovely lady succumbed to your cantankerous charms, has much of London mystified.
” He raised his glass in a mock salute. “Still, my winnings from the betting at White’s will be a generous contribution towards your wedding gift Seems the odds had begun to tip in favor of the dashing Major Harris. ”
Rafe snorted again.
“Pity,” Cole continued between sips of wine, “that Major Harris was unfamiliar with the motto on the Harcrest coat of arms.”
“What I claim is mine,” Rafe said glancing down with a smile at the ruby signet ring that once again adorned his right hand. Alix had no need for it now that she was wearing the betrothal ring he’d given her.
“Though I must admit the ton is quite buzzing with the haste of your nuptials.”
“Let them talk,” Rafe replied, “in a few months they’ll find some new bit of nonsense to chatter about.”
“No doubt fed to them by Anne Dinsmore.”
Rafe shook his head. “You misjudge Anne. She’s received the news that I intended to wed Alix quite gracefully.”
Cole frowned. “I’d still keep an eye out for that rock in the back of the head.”
The dance drew to a close and Cole and Rafe watched as James Dinsmore bent to whisper something in Elizabeth’s ear. She laughed and motioned with her fan in the direction of Rafe and Cole.
Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Did you ever consider that young James might be the rock?”
“James Dinsmore is a rattlebrain, too busy playing hazard and betting on the horses to cause anyone but his family trouble.”
“Word is that he’s mightily disappointed he won’t be having your money to pay his gambling debts.”
Their conversation was cut short as Elizabeth and James drew near, Elizabeth laughing, a light flush spreading across her face.
“James was telling me the most shocking story,” she said smiling mischievously at her escort.
“A tale that no doubt would hold little interest for your brother and Lord Davenport.” James interjected a bit hastily, Rafe thought.
“Quite so, I’m sure,” Rafe said coolly.
James flushed darkly and after exchanging a few obligatory pleasantries, hurriedly made his excuses.
“Well, that was rather rude,” Elizabeth said as soon as he was out of earshot.
“There’s something about that young man I don’t care for,” Rafe responded, his eyes still fixed on the powdered blond head as it wove through the crowd to join a cluster of dandies near the door.
Elizabeth frowned, a stubborn look on her face that bore a remarkable likeness to her brother’s. “So Lady Anne’s a paragon and James is the devil?” she inquired.
“A very keen observation, Lizzie,” Cole said flashing her a smile.
Rafe frowned, aware he was caught in a trap of his own making. “It’s different,” he muttered searching for a way out. “The man sets the tone for a relationship.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said slowly, “a lady is uplifted or dragged down by the man’s moral stance?”
“Something like that.”
She pressed her lips together and gave him a thoughtful look. “And that’s how it happens that Mademoiselle de La Brou has been dragged into a scandalously brief betrothal with you?”
Cole gave a bark of laughter. “If you only knew...”
Rafe shot him a searing glance, and Cole closed his mouth on the rest of the sentence, his dark eyes dancing. “Look, Lizzie,” he began instead, “Rafe and I are just a bit concerned about James’s intentions. Are you developing a tendresse for the fellow?”
Elizabeth threw him a fond but exasperated look. “Lud, no! He’s just good fun. But then I suppose at your age,” she batted her fan, “you’ve both forgotten what that is.”
Cole sighed and pulled a long face. “That’s us, my girl, the souls of staid propriety.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I appreciate your and my brother’s concerns, but I can take care of myself, you know, I’m not a child.”
“If you were, I could safely send you back to the nursery,” Rafe grumbled.
“Are you sure you wish to marry my brother?” Elizabeth asked Alix, who had appeared just then with Phoebe.
Alix linked her arm through Rafe’s. “I’m afraid only he will suit.”
Elizabeth eyed Alix’s elegant gray and lavender patterned gown and shook her head in dismay. “And your taste seems so refined otherwise.”
“Incorrigible brat,” Rafe growled.
Cole nodded sagely. “The considered response of older brothers everywhere.”
As Ginny slid the pale pink satin wedding dress over her head and began fastening up the back, Alix realized with a sense of wonder that she was not in the least nervous.
Standing in front of the long mirror in her dressing room, smoothing down her three-quarter-length net sleeves, it struck her that all she felt was a sense of impatience.
She’d spent so much time over the past few weeks pulling apart her feelings for Rafe and worrying about his feelings for her.
That confusion was behind her now, she thought as Ginny arranged the floor-length veil over her hair.
She knew without a doubt that she loved Rafe and that he loved her, and that she was more than ready to spend the rest of her life with him.
“Lordy, mademoiselle, if you don’t look just like a fairy princess,” Ginny breathed in admiration.
Alix smiled, touching the sweep of lace at the bodice of her dress, then smoothing the satin underskirt. She felt a bit like a fairy princess. “Well, Ginny,” she said, “I think it’s time to go downstairs and show off your handiwork.”
Ginny gave Alix’s veil a final pat, then pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and noisily blew her nose. “Sorry, mademoiselle, but weddings always choke me up. Don’t know why, guess it’s just the feelings of promise in the air.”
Alix gave her a quick hug. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and come to Moreham House with me?”
Ginny shook her mobcapped head. “I thank you, mademoiselle, for the offer, but I guess I’m just stuck in my ways. We Potters have been part of the Melbourne household for generations. It just wouldn’t feel right, picking up and moving somewhere else.”
Alix took a last look at the rose-colored bedchamber and went downstairs to marry Rafe Harcrest, Earl of Moreham.
The ceremony passed in a blur, not a blur of gray as she remembered their first wedding at the Place de la Grève, but it seemed to Alix, a blur of gold.
Candles blazed everywhere, in the great glass chandelier overhead, in candelabras and candle stands, their starry light reflected in the mirrors and long dark windows of the grand salon.
Lady Melbourne had decorated the room with swathes of amber satin and bowls of late blooming foliage.
Rafe, too, seemed to glow, Alix thought, as the candlelight played about his hair and eyes and the rich dark velvet of his wedding clothes.
The words of the ceremony were lost in sensations, the gleam in the depths of his hazel eyes as she walked toward him, the softness of his smile, the warmth of his hand as it closed around hers. When the last muted words had been spoken, she felt his kiss, firm and sweet against her mouth.
“I love you, Lady Moreham,” he whispered as they turned to walk hand in hand, man and wife, through the rows of guests.
She smiled up at him. “And I love you Lord Moreham.”
Alix clasped Rafe’s hand lightly through the supper party Lady Melbourne had arranged for them, barely tasting the dazzling array of dishes the servants standing behind her chair offered.
The air was loud with the sounds of conversation, the clink of glassware, and rounds of toasts.
Listening to the wishes for health, happiness, a long life together, and children, Alix found herself nodding, thinking yes, this was what she wanted from her life with Rafe.
And when he squeezed her hand, she knew that it was all that he desired, too.
As they danced their first “officially” married dance together, Rafe leaned close and said, “I want to take you home, Alix.” She felt a delicious shiver, both at the desire vibrating deep and low in his voice, and the word home. She nodded in assent.
She wasn’t certain how he managed it, but a short time later she found herself wrapped in his arms in a coach heading toward Moreham House.
“It was lovely,” she sighed, leaning into the solid warmth of his body and listening with contentment to the tick of snowflakes against the coach windows.
“Any ceremony with you at its center can’t help but be lovely,” he said kissing the top of her head.
Alix laughed softly. “Even a gray and dreary ceremony at the Place de la Grève?”
Rafe’s voice grew serious. “I think I knew even then when I saw you standing among the crowd of brides in your navy gown that I was falling in love with you.” He caressed her cheek. “But I think this ceremony was a bit nicer, don’t you?”
Alix nodded. “Though, after the Place de la Grève, I swore when I married again it would be in the summer in a garden full of flowers.”
“That’s what Louisa said we should have done, but I’m afraid, my love, I couldn’t leave the Silver Siren wandering loose about London any longer.” He chuckled, then started abruptly. “What do you mean, when you married again?”
Alix laughed. “Oh yes, I also decided that my next husband would be kind and undemanding, and not so disconcertingly handsome.”
Rafe smiled. “Well, Lady Moreham, suitable or no, I believe you are well and truly stuck with me. I shall endeavor to be kind, but I make no promises about being undemanding.” His eyes took on a very demanding gleam as he tilted up her chin. “And I hope that I shall never fail to disconcert.”
As his lips took hers and Alix felt her senses begin to thrum in response, she doubted very much that he would ever fail to do so.
The lurch of the carriage and the jangling sounds of the harness as the horse came to a stop signaled their arrival at Moreham House.
Rafe reluctantly released Alix. A moment later there was a thump on the carriage door, the door swung open, and Jervis peered anxiously into the interior of the coach.
Seeing Alix, his face split into a wide grin.
“So you’ve finally brought your lady home.
Good for you, sir.” He winked at Rafe. “Most of the staff’s been sent on their way.
The cook wants you to know she’s left out some cold meats, some sweets, and a bit of champagne should you need it. ”
Alix and Rafe made their way up the stairs to Moreham House, the snow crunching thickly underfoot. As they reached the top, Jervis swung the front door open for them and offered Alix an extravagant imitation of a courtier’s bow. “Welcome to Moreham House, my lady.”
“Welcome home, Alix,” Rafe murmured in her ear as he slipped her cloak off and handed it to Jervis. Handing over his own great coat and hat as well, he nodded to the grinning little man. “Thank you, Jones, I think I can handle it from here.”
As Jervis disappeared, cloaks piled high around his head, Rafe pulled a silken scarf from out of his pocket.
To Alix’s surprise, he tied it over her eyes.
She moved to pull it off, but he stopped her.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Alix,” he said.
“One more promise to you I swore I’d keep. ”
Alix felt his arms sweep around her waist and under her knees, heard his heart beating beneath her ears as he began to carry her through the great house and up the stairs.
She sensed they were moving down long corridors, turning corners, and moving up another flight of stairs.
Excitement, but no fear, streaked through her body as she heard him turn a handle, felt him push a door open with his shoulder.
He stopped in what Alix judged to be the middle of a room and slid her slowly to her feet.
Turning her away from him, he whispered, “For you, my love,” and untied the silken blindfold.
As it fluttered to her feet, Alix gasped, unbelieving.
It was a bedroom, but unlike any she had ever seen before.
On the floor was a dark green carpet, woven with flowers, and on the walls had been painted a garden, the most magnificent she had ever seen.
Thick trellises of ivy hung over arched pathways, the weathered stone painted so realistically, she felt sure that if she touched it she would feel the warm sun of southern France beneath her fingertips.
Daisies and zinnias and a half dozen other kinds of flowers she recognized but could not name spilled over pebbled pathways, leading to fountains splashing with silver blue water and sculptures of nymphs.
She felt Rafe’s hands gently touch her shoulders, his cheek graze her hair. “Do you like it? Louisa assures me it’s authentic.”
“It’s a French garden,” she breathed, “a real French garden.”
“It’s my promise to you,” he said softly, “that someday you and our children will return to France.” Alix heard a rustle of papers, and when she turned to face him, she saw that he was holding out a pile of creased and stained, but still familiar papers.
“The titles to the de La Brou estates,” he said simply. “My wedding gift to you.”
Alix wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely, communicating with her lips and tongue the words that were too overwhelming to say. Rafe felt wetness against his cheeks, and when Alix pulled away, he tasted her tears.
“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Alix gave a watery laugh as she buried her face against his neck, her hands beginning to make their way down the mother of pearl buttons of his waistcoat. “Rafe Moreham, you sweet idiot, I’m not crying because I’m sad, but because I’m happy. Happier than I ever thought I could be.”
“And always will be, my love,” he whispered as he carried her to the bed. “And always will be.”