41
The final guest departed. Madeline dipped her chin to Justain and left the room with Lady Glaston. He followed, hungering for the scent of her hair.
Devlin stepped in front of him and blocked his path. No avoiding his cousin now. The confessional was open.
“Is it over? Is Barrow dead?” He pulled Justain’s flintlock from beneath his waistcoat and handed it to him.
“The murderer’s still out there. With all these tongues, Barrow and his forces could be here by morning.”
Devlin sighed. “He got away?”
“Barrow wasn’t here.” Justain checked the hammer of the gun, and ran his palm along the short barrel. “There’ve been threats under my nose which I’ve ignored.”
“But you suspected something would happen today at the duke’s funeral? Under ordinary conditions, you only smuggle spirits under your cloak.”
“I’m never without protection. I’ve carried weapons since Dorset.” He poured the last of the cold coffee from the buffet and gulped it. “Randolph Kent did this.”
Devlin’s brows lifted. “The scourge that attacked Madeline?”
Justain nodded. “The blackguard poisoned the duke with opiates. I could’ve saved him and spared Madeline this agony. No wonder I’ve been thinking of Mother.”
“We focus too much on the past, and we miss what’s important, the blessings we have right now in our lives.”
“My wife…everything was to harm Madeline. I’ve been so blind.” Justain’s chest hurt as if a boulder sat upon it. Everything he cared about could’ve been taken away. Was this Madeline’s burden? He downed the coffee, hoping it had enough heat to melt the lump in his throat. “I could have cost you your life.”
“Well, your eyes are open now.” Devlin hummed Amazing Grace.
Justain set down the cup. “Well, I have been blind.”
“You should come to one of my camp meetings. You might find Newton’s hymn comforting.”
Justain wrenched his gun on to the buffet abandoning his temporal protection. It dropped with a thud and spun upon the glossy surface. With trembling fingers, he gripped his cousin’s hand. “Reverend, help me surrender to this grace. I need it. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
****
Madeline sat on the edge of the chaise, moving her slippers over the rug.
Aunt braided her hair. “You’ve tree sap on this section. I’ll brush it out.” A hundred more strokes and the torture ended.
“Anne did a good job of packing. I should lock the portmanteaus.” Madeline tried to stand and force her sore muscles to obey but couldn’t.
“Don’t you dare move! I’ll not have you falling on the floor. Lord Devonshire will be beside himself. Let him lock them up. His guns are atop that one.”
“It’s a miracle he wasn’t killed.” Tears rolled down Madeline’s cheeks.
Aunt traipsed to the picture of Lady Angelique resting near the footboard. She fingered the ribbons of Mama’s dress captured in the textured paint. “It’s finished, dear sister. Your duke is buried, and your girl will leave Avington.”
Madeline dampened her sleeves while trying to stem the flow of her weeping.
Aunt returned to her side and rubbed Madeline’s back. “You and the earl will have a rich life together.”
“He’ll take me to Innesfrey, and we’ll start our separate lives.”
Aunt chuckled, the laugh turning into a full-belly rollicking roar. “There’s no way that young man will ever leave you to build a life without him. He’s besotted with you.”
“I can’t make Justain happy. He’s too much like Father. I keep picturing Father crying out for a drop of water to cool his singed tongue. I can’t watch Justain die in bitterness, too.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t restore the duke. His love for Angelique never died, and it clouded his opportunities. He never understood how a loving God would take your mother from us. The duke didn’t release his pain. But you need to release yours.”
Had Madeline released her pain? She leaned back onto the cushions. She pulled Justain’s satchel from beneath her. The broken book of Donne’s tales spilled out.
A page tore free. She picked up the poet’s A Valediction Forbidding Mourning. Underlined on the paper—’So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move.’
“Melt with no noise.” Madeline had perfected crying without a sound. At least in Innesfrey, she’d be free to voice her emotions without fretting about Justain being made to feel guilty.
Aunt smoothed the streaks from her cheeks. “You tried to protect your husband today, but he wouldn’t let you. He cares for you too much.”
The door creaked open. Anne stood at the entry. “Lady Glaston, Lady Devonshire, I tried to follow your packing instructions.”
“I’m sure your work is perfect.” Madeline leaned back into the padding, hoping the dim light of the room concealed her sorrow.
Anne curtsied and left the chamber.
The glow of the hall lanterns crept around the hinges of the closed door. Her spirit illuminated. “I did try, Aunt. I tried to follow His instructions. Abba Father, help me to forgive myself for falling short.”
“Get some rest.” Aunt Tiffany helped her crawl onto the bed.
Madeline closed her eyes and cradled a pillow.
“His grace is sufficient. Find the strength to love your husband. Treasure him and every day God gives.” Aunt kissed her forehead and left the room.
Madeline sensed Providence’s ministering angels whispering to her. The last vestiges of her grief released. “Abba Father, You kept Justain safe. Thank You for all that I do have.”
Peace fell on her, and she closed her eyes.
****
The glow of a dying lamp lit the room. Madeline focused on the windowsill. The filigreed carvings above the thick pane glass tried their best to reflect moonlight, but the clouds of Hampshire still mourned.
She turned toward the chaise. Justain slept there. His head drooped against the cushions. His hands, which had fired a gun over and over again, now rested with Donne. His bare feet dangled over the edge of the ottoman.
She should douse the candle so Justain could get a better portion of rest. Madeline grasped the handle of her cane and quietly made it to his chair. As she leaned over him his eyes opened.
“Sorry, Justain.”
He smiled and brought her hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath tickled her wrist. He released her and eased the book from his lap to the floor.
“A page tore out of Donne. I wasn’t borrowing it; it fell out of your satchel.”
“Well, it’s part of my worldly goods. It belongs to my wife, too.”
She turned from him and poked the logs in the fireplace. “The book’s taken a battering.”
“But it’s withstood. Sit with me, Madeline.”
She pivoted and lowered to the edge of the chaise. “Are there a lot of books in Innesfrey?”
“There are…but there are more at Trenchard.”
“You’ll have to start boxing them for Innesfrey. I’ve a great appetite for reading.”
He seemed amused. His handsome face hadn’t held a grin for quite a while. “Why would I do that?”
“Do you think I’d settle for this?” She picked up the book from the floor to wave it under his nose. “This isn’t Donne’s poems.” Her fingers caressed the worn leather cover. She flipped open the parchment inked with scriptures. “You were reading the Bible?”
“Devlin loaned it to me. If the words in this book cause my wife to sacrifice her life for mine, it seems fitting that I investigate them. That I commit them to my heart.”
A smile bloomed in her spirit. “It’ll make a great study.”
Justain arched an eyebrow. “I’m going to need help interpreting these passages.”
She smoothed a lock from his temple. “I’m sure your cousin, the good reverend, could be of assistance.”
He put the Bible in her lap. “No, I want my missionary with raven hair, a heart of gold, and soft lips.”
She caught his gaze.
Justain stroked her jaw. “We may have to sleep on blankets until the furnishings arrive at Trenchard, but I’ll make the adventure fun. Then maybe a wedding trip to Italy?” His voice turned serious. “The Countess of Devon should be at her husband’s side. Your place is at Trenchard, Lady Devonshire.”
“I should be for Innesfrey. There, we’ll start afresh, without guilt and resentment. We’ll learn to trust each other, absent tragedy.”
His sky-blue eyes radiated. “I trust you with everything within me, Maddie.”
She looked away.
“I need you to trust me again.” Justain put his hands along her shoulders. He rubbed her muscles until she sank against him. “I know you’re tired, but it’s time for me to fight for this union.”
He drew her into a kiss. His lips seemed to plead for their marriage, his fingers upon her waist numbering his reasons.
She settled near his ear to catch her breath. “At least this Barrow mess is over.”
“My chasing after Barrow is over. But this attack was Kent’s doing. You did hear his voice when we hid in the mineshaft. He’s tried to take you from my arms ever since, but he won’t hurt you or anyone else, anymore. He’s dead.”
“Kent?” She inhaled deeply. The tiny bloom of hope withered in her spirit. The battles weren’t done. “Then Barrow is still after you.”
“Once we’re in Devon, I will make it plain that my plan for vengeance is no more. I’ll let the Crown deal with him. I intend to have a long life with my own personal missionary.” He stroked her hair. “You must be at my side. I need you, Maddie.”
“Justain, I don’t know.”
“I’ll even desecrate Trenchard with a sculpture room.” He moved his hands away. “I finally see what I want, and it’s not revenge.”
She wanted a life with him, but her stomach quivered. “The risk is too much for me.”
Justain closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve no more defences. You and God. You’ve slain my heart, and I can’t live without either of you.” The words were quiet in tone, but the most powerful things he’d ever said.
Madeline batted away a tear then tugged his palm to her cheek. “You never fight fair.”
“I fight to win, but I’ve a task for you, my countess.”
She lowered her head onto his shoulder. “And that would be?”
“In the mineshaft, you enchanted me with a few wicked tales. The prophet and the harlot was my favourite. Please retell it, but keep it exciting or you’ll lose my interest.”
“I’ll try.” She hugged his neck, sought the warmth of his mouth.
“Oh.” He groaned. “This is a good beginning.”
Madeline forgot her fears and rested in Justain’s arms until the morn.