"So you are. You are a woman who has much love, stored up and overflowing, and all the resignation in the world will not change that." With cupped hand, he smoothed her hair away from her face. "You love me. You fight it because I do not love you. But is not love a giving of oneself, the taking of a chance, a gamble so big that the result could be true love forever?"
She took a quick, startled breath as he scored a direct hit.
"I demand happiness for you," he said. "I will settle for no less than happiness."
CHAPTER 34
The return to Austinpark Manor in the dark was a grueling one, hampered by several downpours that turned the turnpike to mud and made Wynter swear he would start taking that newfangled train.
He knew he wouldn't. He liked his horses too much.
But the whole family arrived in time to snatch a few hours' sleep before they had to rise with the radiant sun and prepare for the Sereminian reception.
Predictably, Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, King Danior and Queen Evangeline, the English court and all of the Sereminian delegation arrived promptly at nine in the morning.
Robbie and Leila had been in charge of taking the Sereminian royal children off to play, and they offered hospitality so graciously Charlotte had glowed with pride. Then Adorna had taken over and the royal party had been ruthlessly beguiled. They were given a tour of the house and the gardens, fed and chatted up.
Now they were seated in rows on the portico, waiting to be entertained.
So Wynter found himself in the stable, arrayed in his white djellaba, a turban wrapped around his head. Robbie was dressed like a miniature version of his father. And Leila wore sky blue, the feminine version of the traditional garb.
Leila preened with delight. She was going to get to ride again, not in the hated sidesaddle, but astride or standing, shooting a pistol and showing off her greatest accomplishments. Best of all, she had her grandmama's encouragement.
Under Adorna's tending, Leila would now bloom like a rose in the soil of England.
Wynter had no more worries about his children.
Only about himself. And Charlotte, who would scarcely look at him and claimed she was becoming resigned. Charlotte, who still failed to realize that a man's reasoning was superior to a woman's emotion. Charlotte, who made him experience such…well…frustration.
Yes. What she made him experience was frustration.
He wanted to talk to her, and the damned reception would not end for hours. So he resolved not to think of her now.
Naturally, Robbie stood in the middle of the stable and asked, "Papa, why aren't you and Lady Miss Charlotte happy?"
Wynter grimaced. "I shall explain at some other time."
"I thought you told me I could ask you anything and you would answer," Robbie said.
Yes. Wynter had said that. But he had thought his son would ask about girls of his own age, not Wynter's own unsettled marriage. He wanted to say again, No, not now. He wanted to tell Robbie he had appalling timing. That Fletcher and his assistants were walking the horses to warm their muscles. That their grandmother depended on them for international amusement. That Charlotte had not yet become the wife Wynter knew she should be.
But Robbie and Leila looked up at him as if Wynter could explain everything in the universe, and Wynter was loath to disillusion them. So briefly he tried to clarify the situation. "Charlotte is being stubborn. She loves me, yet doesn't accept this as her destiny, so she is not a happy or fulfilled woman."
Leila said what Wynter desperately wanted to hear. "But she does love you, Papa. Why doesn't that make her happy?"
Wynter found himself remembering the prediction of an old wise woman at Leila's cradle. The old lady had said Leila would grow in wisdom and in beauty. Right now, Wynter hoped Leila spoke wisdom. "Charlotte is an Englishwoman," he said, "and in many ways Englishwomen are foolish. She refuses to be happy in her love for me until I say I love her."
Leila tied a sky-blue scarf over her braided hair. "Why won't you tell her?"
"I cannot build a marriage on a falsehood."
"What falsehood?"
"That I love her."
"But, Papa, you do love her!"
He abruptly experienced an unmanly set of weak knees, and sank down on a wooden crate. "Men do not love women."
Leila's nose wrinkled. "That's stupid. Who told you that?"
"Barakah, my desert father," Wynter replied with crushing finality.
Coming to lean on his shoulder, Leila pronounced, "He was wrong. Look at that Lord Bucknell. He loves Grandmama."
Robbie joined them, leaning on Wynter's other shoulder. "Papa, you know he does. He watches her all moony-eyed." He did an imitation of Bucknell wishing after Adorna.
"Besides, if it's true men don't fall in love"—Leila crossed her skinny arms across her chest—"then I will never fall in love."
Pulling her onto his knee, Wynter explained, "A woman must fall in love to be happy."
Leila pointed her thumb at her chest. "I'm not going to get all sappy after some man who thinks he's the sun or something and wants me to spread rose petals for him to walk on."
Robbie sang, "Rose petals, rose petals, Leila's going to spread rose petals."
"I have never asked for rose petals," Wynter said stiffly.
"No, you just want Mama"—Leila paused, tilting her chin—"my new mama to adore you while you don't have to pay her a lot of attention."
"I like that!" Robbie said. "I'm glad I'm a man."
Wynter glared at his son, then turned back to Leila, who had become an exasperating woman-child while he wasn't watching. "That is not true."
"You'd like that, Papa," she said. "You could be lazy. She'd have to do all the work, and if your marriage wasn't good you could blame her."
"You are a child. You do not understand."
"I understand." She had an expression on her face he'd seen before, and he recognized it. This was the look of the wise old woman. "I understand too well. Barakah was wrong. Men do love women."
"Barakah was a leader of the desert men."
"But you're not a desert man, Papa," Robbie said. "You're an Englishman."
"And you love Charlotte." Taking Wynter's face in her hands, Leila turned it toward her. "You love her very much. Even dumb ol' Robbie can see that."
Robbie didn't take umbrage at the epithet. He just nodded agreement.
An Englishman. Wynter was an Englishman. The years he'd spent in the desert had taught him much, yes, but no influence could ever supersede the original influence of those who had borne him. His mother…and his father.
His father. Henry, Viscount Ruskin. It had been so many years ago, yet…yes, he remembered him. Old and tottering, yet more intensely alive than any man Wynter had met before or since. In the long days and evenings they had spent together, his father had told Wynter so much. How to calculate numbers in his head, how to behave during business dealings, what kind of horse to buy. But he'd taught him by example, too.
Closing his eyes, Wynter remembered the way his father had looked at his mother.
His father had adored Adorna. And he was as much a real man as Barakah had ever been.
Barakah had been a wise and brave man. But in this matter, at least, he had been a foolish coward.
He had never dared love a woman.
"Papa?" Leila pushed his hair back and toyed with his earring. "Are you suffering from wind?"
Opening his eyes, he looked at his daughter. "What if I am?"
"Then I'm leavin'."
Laughing, he kissed her forehead. He ruffled his son's hair. And he said, "Here's what I plan for us to do."
* * *
The first time Wynter slipped off the bare back of his horse and rode between the galloping legs, Charlotte shrieked.
Queen Victoria looked at her in spartan amazement.
Adorna pretended not to be amused.
Queen Evangeline said, "Lady Ruskin, that must be your husband."
"Yes, Your
Majesty." Charlotte's voice wasn't working right. Even to herself, it sounded a little high. The three horses galloped at a great speed, around and around the open area in front of the portico. Targets had been placed, for what reason Charlotte scarcely dared imagine, and Wynter, Robbie and Leila rode like maniacs in their desert garb.
Leila stood up on the horse and traveled around the circle as lightly as a fairy.
The Sereminian children oohed in admiration.
Charlotte ripped her handkerchief in half.
King Danior patted her on the shoulder. "Great riding. Is that your son?"
"Daughter," Charlotte squeaked.
"You'll forgive Lady Ruskin, Your Majesty." Queen Victoria emphasized his title. "She seems to have forgotten her manners."
King Danior chuckled. "Not at all. If my daughter"—he glared at Queen Evangeline meaningfully— "or my wife rode like that, I would forget my very name."
"I can't do those tricks!" Queen Evangeline answered.
"Nor I, Your Majesty," Adorna said. "But I would love to learn."
Charlotte could scarcely believe that Adorna would say such a thing. Love to learn? That? As if Charlotte weren't frightened enough having her husband and two little children performing maneuvers that would bring on palpitations! Soon. She would keel over from fear.
"Yes, indeed." Queen Evangeline beamed. "I, too, would love to learn."
"Really?" Queen Victoria turned in her purple velvet chair and stared at Queen Evangeline. "You would try that?"
"Of course." The queen of Sereminia was in her forties, a beautiful woman resplendent with content. "What is the use of being queen if one can't enjoy oneself?"
"And give your husband gray hairs," King Danior interceded.
Prince Albert harrumphed. "I say, yes."
"No, Evangeline." King Danior sounded both stern and apprehensive. "You have wanted to return to England for years, but we cannot dally here forever. It would be a strain on our gracious hosts if you were laid up indefinitely with a cracked skull."
"I suppose." Evangeline turned back to the show, shoulders slumped. Then she leaped to her feet and clapped her hands. "Look at that!"
The horses looked as if they would collide, then Leila hurtled from her gelding to Wynter's stallion.
Charlotte slithered out of her seat onto the floor. She wanted to close her eyes so badly, or hide behind one of the uprights on the balustrade, but she couldn't take her gaze off the magnificent creatures racing before them.
"Dear Lady Ruskin, do rise," Queen Victoria said. "Your family seems most accomplished at this fascinating endeavor, and you do them an injustice with your excessive anxiety."
"Sorry." Charlotte climbed back into her chair. "Sorry, Your Majesty, I just—"
Leila still held the reins to her mount, and she returned to it with a bound while at the same time Robbie jumped on the broad horse's back behind his father.
Charlotte whimpered.
Then the target shooting began.
By the time the three horses, with their riders, were lined up before the portico, Charlotte's hair had somehow fallen out of its coiffure, her handkerchief was in shreds and she was hoarse from trying to contain her screams.
"Before her marriage to Wynter, our dear Charlotte used to be known as Miss Priss, a most excellent finishing governess," Adorna announced—an uncalled-for comment, in Charlotte's opinion.
Each rider held a bouquet of blossoms from Austinpark Manor's garden, reaped one by one through an exercise wherein the rider leaned off the horse and snatched it out of a maidservant's extended hand.
Charlotte was miserably aware that the flowers looked better than she did.
Leila removed the scarf, revealing her braid. Under her urging, her horse bowed before the company. Being on a horse lifted Leila to almost the same level as the company on the portico, and so she was able to extend her bouquet to Queen Evangeline. The queen took it with thanks, and Charlotte thought the pleased grins of child and queen were almost identical.
Robbie repeated the exercise to Queen Victoria, removing his turban, bowing with his horse and extending his bouquet. Queen Victoria did not grin, but her cheeks were rosy with the excitement she had finally been unable to suppress.
Then Wynter moved into place before Charlotte.
Charlotte glanced at Adorna, trying to tell him he was making a mistake, that propriety demanded he give the bouquet to his mother, the hostess.
She should have remembered that Wynter never did anything he didn't want to, and for some reason, he wanted Charlotte to have the flowers.
He removed his turban, displaying his mussed hair and his barbaric earring. He bowed with his horse, a gracious motion of the upper body. And when he reached out with his bouquet, he said, "I offer this to my lady wife, who with her beauty puts the first flower of spring to shame, who with her knowledge has brought my children and I into the arms of civilization"—he looked into her eyes—"and who with her love has conquered my heart."
She had started to extend her hand, but now she drew back. "No, I haven't."
"She was a finishing governess?" she heard Queen Victoria ask incredulously.
"All my heart," Wynter clarified. "My whole heart. My whole heart, which beats only for you, oh dearest and most brilliant star in my sky."
He didn't mean it. He couldn't have changed his mind in so little time. Yet he looked earnest enough, and she couldn't imagine why he would lie. Not this man, who insisted on honor in all things.
Charlotte clasped her hands together. "Really?"
"If you will not believe me," he replied, "ask my children."
Both Robbie and Leila nodded their heads enthusiastically.
"For you," Wynter vowed, "I will get my hair cut. I will remove my earring. I will wear proper English clothing at all times and always sit in a chair."
"I don't want that." Charlotte's voice rasped in her throat. "I just want you to say it, plainly."
He smiled at her. Only at her. "Lady Miss Charlotte Wife, I love you."
Never, not even in her dreams, had she imagined happiness like this. "I love you, too." Extending her hand, she reached for the flowers. She got them, as well as his fingers clasping hers. He brought his horse alongside the railing, and carried her hand to his lips, and kissed it passionately.
"Well! This has been most entertaining," Queen Victoria said. "We thank both the Lady Ruskins, and Lord Ruskin, of course, and his children, who are most talented. But if we are to get back to London before dark, we should start at once."
Prince Albert harrumphed. "Yes, indeed."
Charlotte managed to wrestle her hand away from Wynter's and turn to face the company.
"Most entertaining." King Danior sounded as if he were amused.
"I never imagined being this entertained." Queen Evangeline leaned against King Danior's shoulder.
"Thank you, thank you." Adorna fairly gushed with pleasure. "I always try to make my galas memorable."
"I think we can safely agree you have done that," Queen Evangeline said.
Wynter, Robbie and Leila dismounted. They gave their horses over to the stableboys and climbed the stairs. The royal children surrounded Robbie and Leila at once. Wynter never took his gaze away from Charlotte, and no one got between them as he made his way to her side.
The royal leave-taking proceeded around them, and Charlotte stared at him, still not quite believing. He didn't touch her. She didn't touch him. They didn't dare, or she knew they would behave in an even more improper manner than they already had, and dimly, in some now-unexercised corner of her mind, Charlotte was aware they had behaved most improperly, indeed.
"Dears," Adorna trilled. "Their Majesties are departing!"
Side by side, Wynter and Charlotte walked to Adorna. Charlotte curtsied and took personal pride in Wynter's elegant bow. Smiling and waving, they observed as the royal party stepped into open carriages and at last, at long last, drove away.
Blessed silence fell. Adorna, the
children, the servants were watching Wynter and Charlotte. Charlotte knew it, but she didn't care. All of England could discover how much she loved her husband, and she didn't mind, because he loved her back. She had everything she could ever want.
"I will make you happy," Wynter vowed. "I will pleasure you every night."
Adorna sighed. "That might make up for being such a jackass," she murmured. Lifting her voice, she said, "Come, children. I'll teach you how to play whist."
As she began to herd Robbie and Leila toward the house, Wynter and Charlotte reached out to each other—and heard the sound of carriage wheels returning on the gravel drive.
Wynter's hand dropped. "They forgot something."
"I suppose." Adorna sounded disgusted. "I would have sent it on."
But Charlotte didn't recognize the coach that drove up. It was closed, for one thing, and draped red silk covered the door as if concealing a crest. The coachman wore red, too, an eighteenth-century oddly mismatched nobleman's costume. He grinned at the assemblage as he pulled the vehicle to a halt.
The door was flung wide. A masked man dressed all in black leaped to the ground.
He wore a short cape, a doublet, tights and leather gauntlets. He strode up the terrace steps with an arrogant gait, and at the top slung his cape over one shoulder and stood, fists on hips, glaring at Adorna through the slits in his mask.
"Grandmama, who is that man?" Leila asked.
Adorna stared, head tilted, and finally guessed, "Lord Bucknell?"
Beside Charlotte, Wynter gave a slight and almost silent chuckle.
"Lord Bucknell?" Adorna sounded a little surer this time. "What are you…?"
The masked man didn't answer. Instead, he walked to Adorna, bent and picked her up.
As she hung over his shoulder, she shrieked.
Charlotte stiffened. What had Wynter said when he carried her off to their wedding bower? Bucknell reminded me that reluctant maidens should be kidnapped.
Lord Bucknell was carrying away her mother-in-law.
As he stuffed Adorna into the coach, she shrieked again, but it sounded as if she were laughing.
Her abductor leaped inside. He shut the door. The coachman whipped up the horses, and they were gone.