Chapter 46

 

“Rachel. Darling.” He waved the smelling salts under her nose and she shuddered.

There were too many people in the room—the porter, the hotel doctor, someone from the front desk. Pete Everett, too, who was supposed to stay out of the way while Henry surprised Rachel.

Well, he guessed she was plenty surprised.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” She was parchment white, except for the blue lips. It would have been a fascinating medical study except he wanted his fiancée well.

Henry patted his pocket. “I have a special license. Vincent will marry us tomorrow if it’s all right with you.”

She tried to get off his lap but he was having none of it. “I say, Pete, can you get these fellows out of here? Drinks are on me.”

“You heard the viscount,” Pete said in a voice he once must have used in battle. “Out!”

Pete failed to follow his own edict. Leaning over the couple, he said, “You two better not disappoint me. That’s an order.”

Henry gave him a left-handed salute since his right hand was busy keeping Rachel from escaping. “Yes, sir.”

Rachel waited till the door closed. “I don’t understand. You left me. You left me!” She gave him a little shove. Ah, there was his Rachel, feeling more the thing.

“You never got my note? I explained the plan in complete detail.” Or as much detail as he’d managed to come up with at the end of the school day.

“What note?”

“I put it on your desk with the children’s papers.”

Rachel blinked. “I—I threw all the papers away. I could barely see for the tears.”

He wiped away the ones that coursed down her cheeks now. Days had passed, and she hadn’t known he loved her. She must have wished him to the devil every waking minute.

“Didn’t that idiot Vincent tell you I had everything in hand?”

Rachel sniffed. “I thought he meant about the school. Or Greta. Sir Bertram told everybody your father made you change his mind about marrying me.”

“As if he could! I can’t believe you didn’t have faith in me!”

“How was I to know? You never even tried to see me those last three days, and then you disappeared. I didn’t know about any note.”

“I am sorry for that. But I wanted no word to get back to my father. Mrs. Grace is his spy, you know. And maybe his mistress, although I could be wrong about that. Apparently he had an encounter with a bull in a field when he went walking early one morning and he—oh, never mind.” Rachel frowned in confusion, but he wasn’t going to waste precious time talking about the pater.

“Anyway, I wanted nothing to interfere with my father helping Greta. He’s quite chivalrous, you know, but if he thought he was being defied, he would have refused to speak to the archbishop. And the attorneys—there’s a whole hive of them on Greta’s team. It’s all in train now, and nothing can stop it. Briefs filed, court dates appointed. It’s amazing what a powerful man can do in a very short amount of time if he wants to. She should be free by the end of the year. Poorer, too. Her hideous husband is still making things difficult, but he’ll be bought off in the end if someone doesn’t shoot him first. No one messes with the Marquess of Harland.”

“Or Viscount Challoner.” She nestled into his shoulder. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Poor lamb. I couldn’t write to you—the damned post office is run by those Stanchfield people and Vincent told me they steam open suspicious letters on orders from the Foundation. But I did contact your father.”

“That was your letter! But it was gibberish! How could you know he’d understand?”

“Your dad studies history. I knew he’d figure it out, and Vincent got one too. Only his had Bible verses.” Henry thought he’d been pretty damned clever.

Rachel almost smiled, but then she shook her head. “You’re going back on your word to your father if you marry me.”

“I never gave it. Oh, I may have inclined my head when he made his ridiculous demand, but that was his interpretation of acceptance. Who can say? I might have just had a crick in my neck. Or was avoiding a bumblebee.”

“In Sir Bertram’s dining room? Oh, Henry! He’ll be so angry!”

“Will he? I wonder. I think he knows I’ve changed, and for the better. And however he shows it, he wants me to be happy. You make me happy, Rachel.”

The tears were flooding now, and he kissed them as they slid down her pale cheeks. He would pink her up again. Everywhere. The past few weeks had been hell for both of them.

“School starts in a week.”

“Hand in your notice. You’re going to be Lady Challoner, and we might be in…Switzerland? Would you like that?”

“I hardly know. I’ve never been anywhere,” Rachel said, smiling through her tears.

“I’d like to show you the world.” Not the sad, difficult parts, though if he knew Rachel, she’d want to fix them. She’d never be satisfied unless she was taking care of someone.

Soon she would be taking care of him, and Henry swore by all that was holy, he’d take the very best care of her too.


***


Henry’s first opportunity to do so arrived the next morning. He had taken a risk, but risk had its reward, did it not? He’d said so to Charlie Motley anyhow.

He wanted to make things right. Proper. Henry had turned over a new leaf—hell, he was a whole new tree.

The Marquess of Harland was admitted to the suite by Henry’s valet, who was relieved that he still had a job and a young gentleman to do for. The man had had fussed so around Henry since he’d come back from Puddling that he almost longed for Mrs. Grace.

“What’s this about, Henry?” He held the telegram out, as if Henry might have forgotten he wrote it.

“I’m glad you came, sir. I didn’t want to have the most important day of my life without you.”

The pater’s eyes narrowed. “What nonsense are you up to now?”

“No nonsense, just sense. I am marrying Rachel Everett today.” Henry waved his arm at the baskets of white roses that decorated his suite. Pete had already been in, and didn’t think much of London florists.

His father sat down on a brocade sofa. “I see.”

This was not the reaction Henry expected. “You do?”

“I had a rather eloquent letter the other day from the young lady’s father. Peter, I believe?”

“Y-yes.” Henry sat down too.

“I may have misjudged her. Greta sang her praises too. She was very kind to her during that difficult time in Puddling.”

The pater had fatherly feelings for Greta, and was casting about ways to help old Vincent too. Greta had confessed all, but the pater was not going to steal the vicar from Henry’s soldiers’ retreat.

“So I have your blessing?”

“You don’t need it. As you’ve pointed out often enough, you’re of age, you have your own funds, and certainly your own ideas. Your scheme for your troubled soldiers shows great merit. I’m proud of you, Henry.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, when he’d finally found his voice.

“I think Miss Everett will keep you in line. If she can put a marquess in his place, dealing with a mere viscount should be easy.”

“She doesn’t think she’s suitable, Father, although I’m pretty sure she loves me,” Henry blurted out. He didn’t want his father to make Rachel feel inadequate on this day of all days.

“Pretty sure, eh? Still pressing your luck.”

“But I am lucky. Undeservedly so. Rachel is…well, she’s Rachel. I’d like for you to get to know her.”

His father nodded. “She shan’t hear any criticism from me. She may not be a typical Challoner bride, but perhaps that’s a good thing. None of them were as sweet as your mother.” The marquess reached into his pocket and brought out a velvet box. “I expect you’ve already bought a ring, but your wife should have this necklace. My grandmother wore it on her wedding day. Awful woman, but the diamonds can’t be sneezed at.”

Henry walked across the room, his heart much lighter. Even his foot felt better. “Thank you. I hope to make her as happy as you made Mama.”

His father rose and, by the gods, hugged him. “Do better, my boy. There’s always room for improvement.”