Chapter Twenty #3
It had been, naturally, Dominic’s first impulse. But he’d had time to think through the brief hours of the night, and now he shook his head. “Surrey. My mother’s house.”
Minuette was in her mother’s rose garden when she heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles.
Hope rose in her, wild and immediate, and she did her best to quench it by refusing to run around the house and see for herself.
She gathered up the knife she’d been using to deadhead the last of the roses and laid it in the basket with the shriveled petals.
Removing the leather gloves that had once been her mother’s, she laid them across the shears and settled the basket on her arm.
Only then did she leave the gravel paths of the garden to walk sedately around to the front of the house, Fidelis stalking silently by her side.
The beating of her heart was anything but sedate when she saw Dominic, talking to Asherton as a groom led away his horse.
Harrington was with him, naturally, and another man Minuette did not immediately recognize.
She had eyes only for Dominic. His expression was detached, almost icy, and she relaxed only a little when he turned to her and smiled, for even then his eyes remained unreadable.
“May I have a word with you?” He indicated the direction from which she’d come.
Asherton seemed to have everything well in hand, and neither Harrington nor the other guest—who she recognized with bewilderment as Michael, the priest from Dominic’s mother’s home—looked at all perturbed by Dominic’s abruptness.
She led him back into the midst of her mother’s roses, where he stood silent.
Now that he had her alone, he seemed all at once indecisive, shifting his weight and hardly looking at her. Desperate to break the tension, Minuette behaved as any good hostess would. “Will Michael be staying long?”
“Just the one night.”
Minuette said lamely, “How nice.”
At last Dominic shook his head and sighed, and the smile he gave her this time was almost recognizable. “I know I’m not making much sense. I had thought the hard part was behind me, deciding …”
“Deciding what?”
His answer did not seem to match her question. “You know, of course, that Michael is not primarily a clerk. He’s a Jesuit priest, and my mother’s confessor.”
“I remember. I don’t understand why he’s here.” But she thought maybe she did, only she was afraid to be wrong, afraid to grasp at the hope in case Dominic snatched it away at the last moment.
“I’ve brought the priest, Minuette, and a witness. I thought you might supply the church? I know you have one convenient.”
Through the spinning in her head, she snatched at one point. “I thought … Christmas. Didn’t we agree we would tell William at Christmas?”
All at once his dark green eyes were aware and full of hurt. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. I apologize. I was thinking only of myself.”
“Dominic, what has happened?”
His eyes once again went blank. “Nothing. I’m sorry, I’m not doing this very well, but … Do you not want to marry me?”
The vulnerability of the question made her long to comfort him for whatever hurt had brought him here.
She had known for months now that something or someone would have to break to end this painful stalemate they were locked in.
She had never guessed it would be Dominic.
She had never guessed Dominic could be broken. What had been done to him?
This was not the moment to press. She reached her hands to the back of his head, laced her fingers together through the soft, dark hair and, rising on tiptoe, kissed him.
There was one moment when he was stiff and surprised, then his arms came around her with unusual force and she knew it would be all right.
She pulled her head away, just enough to whisper, “The twelfth of November: our wedding day, Dominic.”
That refrain danced through Minuette’s thoughts like quicksilver over the next two hours.
She allowed the joy of it to overwhelm the whispers of caution within, warning that some disaster must have precipitated Dominic’s abrupt action.
It must be William. Something the king had said or done had tipped Dominic from prudence to recklessness.
After those few heady moments in the garden, she fled into the house, afraid to speak to anyone for fear her happiness would spill into indiscretion.
After a brief meal of bread and cheese, Dominic went ahead with Michael to the church, leaving Harrington behind to accompany her.
If they were seen together at the church, they would say that Michael, as a guest, had wished to see the estate.
Minuette was so overwrought with nerves and excitement that she barely noticed Carrie’s unusual quietness, until she came out into the forecourt and found three horses, not two, standing patiently. Harrington and Carrie were already mounted.
She opened her mouth to order Carrie off, and caught Harrington’s eye. “I’ve already tried,” he said gruffly.
“You’re not leaving me behind,” Carrie told her, her soft brown eyes and round cheeks looking unnaturally stern. “Not today.”
It seemed Carrie knew all. Had always known, perhaps. And she was right, Minuette did not want her left behind. It would be comforting to have another woman present, especially a woman who had known her mother so well.
And two witnesses were better than one.
It was a point she had to make to Dominic, when his face darkened at the sight of one more person in on their secret. But he was too practical to debate the issue—as long as Carrie knew anyway, she might as well stay.
And it was Carrie who had the second biggest surprise of the day, wrapped in soft linen on the floor of the carved quire. She shooed the men out of the church and told them not to come near until she called.
As she undid the ties binding the fluidly bulky package, she explained to Minuette.
“I knew how it would be the moment I laid eyes on the priest. Hard to mistake him, however he dresses. Anyway, I’ve had this ready for some months.
It was only a matter of wrapping it and asking Edward to ride over here while the two gentlemen were eating. ”
“Edward?”
Carrie blushed, as if caught in an indiscretion. “Harrington, I mean.”
Minuette looked thoughtfully at her maid. So that was the way of things, was it? But Carrie had the linen undone now, and the sight of what lay within made all other thoughts slip away.
Cloth-of-silver, gleaming in the dusty interior of the church like moonlight poured out and caught in fabric. “Not the best condition,” Carrie explained, “being folded and wrapped like that, but much more suitable than a riding habit.”
Minuette had seen this dress before, as a child. “Is that …”
“Your mother wore it for her first wedding, so she told me, and on special occasions after. She put it away when your father died, and I found it where she’d left it. Needed a little mending, but not much. And all the jewels are still there.”
Indeed, the square neckline was bound an inch deep on each side with rubies and sapphires, their deep colours blazing against the silver paleness of the fabric itself. Minuette touched the bodice gently with one finger, too moved to speak.
Carrie smiled. “I know a dress is just a dress. I know his lordship would marry you in your shift and never mind it. But I thought you’d like this.”
Minuette did like it. And so, to judge by his expression when he saw her, did Dominic. He stopped for a long moment in the open doorway, his eyes sweeping over her where she stood, trembling, in front of the altar.
His hand, when he grasped hers, was warm and reassuring. In a clear, sonorous Latin that made Minuette feel as though her mother were just over her shoulder somewhere, watching, Father Michael began.
“Lo, brethren, we are come here before God and His angels, in the face and presence of our mother Holy Church, for to couple and unite these two bodies together, that is to say, of this man and of this woman, that they be from this time forth but one body and two souls in the faith and law of God and Holy Church, for to deserve everlasting life, whatsoever that they have done here before.”
If Dominic hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he was drunk.
It wasn’t the single glass of wine he had with dinner, either, because he’d been feeling this way for hours—since the moment he’d seen Minuette in that silvery dress, standing in the shell of a church like a statue come to life.
With coloured sunlight pouring through the windows and lighting her hair like a votive candle, he had made his vows in a state of pleasant intoxication that had not left him since.
She wore the gown at dinner. The old housekeeper commented on it innocently enough, and how much Minuette looked like her mother, but she seemed too simple to suspect anything so far-fetched as a clandestine marriage.
Or perhaps, he thought, she is like all the Wynfield folk—prepared to believe that whatever Minuette does must be right.
He imagined that if they told Mistress Holly of their marriage, her only response would be, “How nice. Have some more pudding.”
They ate alone (Michael had generously asked to be served in his room) but were careful to sit far enough apart that touching was impossible. Dominic did not mind. Now that she was his, he could wait.
As soon as the table was cleared, Minuette dismissed the housekeeper and Carrie for the night. She beat Dominic twice at chess while they waited for the household to settle into quietness around them.
Minuette took a candle in hand and, in a voice that was almost steady, said, “I shall be in my chamber.”
Dominic rose and kissed her on the top of her head. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
When she had gone, he paced the length of the hall, refusing to let his mind wander past the sound of his feet on the flagstones, trying to match his breathing to his even steps.
He traversed the hall back and forth a dozen times before making his way through darkened corridors to Minuette’s chamber. There was no answer when he knocked.
“Minuette?” he called softly.
Her voice came from just the other side of the door, sounding half exasperated. “I sent Carrie to bed.”
Dominic paused, attempting to decipher that unexpected sentence. “I hadn’t really expected her to be part of this.”
“No,” she sighed. Opening the door just enough for him to see her face peering around it, she said, “I can’t get out of my dress.”
Dominic struggled to keep a straight face, but he could not entirely suppress his laughter. She answered with a rueful laugh of her own. “It’s ridiculous, I know.”
“I’ll fetch Carrie for you.”
He was half turned away when she said, in a curiously altered voice, “You could … would you do it?”
All at once he could not breathe. One body and two souls.
His hands were not entirely steady as he unlaced the two curving seams that ran down her back from shoulders to waist. He helped her remove the overdress, followed by the full-skirted kirtle, petticoat, and finally the stiff corset.
Minuette herself seemed to gain in confidence with each item removed, until she faced him in only a linen smock that made his mouth go dry at how little it concealed even by candlelight.
“My turn,” she murmured, and began to undo the laces of his sleeveless doublet.
He had removed the close-fitting, long-sleeved jerkin before dinner but wished now that he hadn’t, if only for the pleasure of letting her undress him.
Minuette’s hands moved gracefully down the black velvet until Dominic shrugged the doublet off.
With only a moment’s hesitation, she untied the neckline of his shirt and Dominic obliged her, pulling the linen over his head, wanting to feel her hands on his skin.
But it was her mouth that touched him first, bestowing a butterfly-light kiss in the hollow at the base of his throat.
When she moved into his arms at last, he had a flash of memory—Minuette jumping to him at Hampton Court more than two years ago.
The sharp awareness he’d had then of a girl grown into a woman mixed now with the vivid sweetness of holding his wife for the first time.
My wife. She smelled of clean earth and dusky roses, and Dominic felt as he had once before when holding Minuette—that he had come home.
There was a moment when he drew back—the last moment that he could—and said breathlessly, “I don’t want to hurt you, love.”
Her hazel eyes were enormous and trusting. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered. “I could never be afraid of you.”
Hours later, in the still hush before dawn, Minuette lay in his arms and asked the question he had been both expecting and dreading since yesterday.
“What has William done?”
He told her as he’d always meant to, knowing they could not expect to have more than one night’s peace at a time. He told her of Scotland and of William’s lies and of an arrow in the back. When he had finished, he waited for her to defend William in her gentle, tolerant way.
She did not defend him. She did not say anything. She moved against Dominic and kissed him until he forgot everything but the moment.