Kirkstone House
Half-past one in the afternoon
Mary watched LordThaddeus sleep. He looked peaceful, although she knew the laudanum kept him still and unconscious—drugged to facilitate the move from one of the upstairs rooms at the Lyon’s Den to a guest suite in Kirkstone House, under the supervision of her brother’s personal surgeon. While the care the Lyon’s Den had provided had been excellent, everyone agreed the calmer environment of Kirkstone House would be a better solution. His wounds were extensive—a broken leg, several cracked ribs, bruised internal organs, a concussion—and needed time, rest, and personal attention to heal properly.
After he had been settled into the big four-poster bed in the room, after all the bandage changing, tucking, and bracing had been done, Kit had finally let Mary sit next to the bed, provided she leave the door of the bedchamber open.
Mary had laughed. “A bit late for that, do you not think?”
Kit shook his head. “Just remember that you will be in London a long time, and tongues will always wag.”
London. Mary had thoughts about that, about their promise for her to marry Lord Thaddeus and take up residence at Kirkstone House. But now was not the time.
The duke had sent a missive to Lord Thaddeus’s family about his condition and location, receiving a two-line note back from the earl:I appreciate the notice. If money is needed to support his care, please inform me.
That was it. No questions, no offers to visit. No suggestion that he be moved to his family home. Nothing.
Now, watching this beautiful man sleep, Mary fought tears again, for an entirely new reason. She had cried a great deal in the last forty-eight hours, more than she ever hoped to again.
“We will be your family,” she whispered.
“About that,” her brother’s voice rumbled from the door.
She looked around, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“I spoke with the surgeon and the archbishop. Lord Thaddeus should emerge from this dose of laudanum by tomorrow afternoon, although he will mostly need smaller doses for the pain off and on for the next few weeks. However, he should be conscious enough to marry.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Marry? Here? In the bed?”
“It would hardly be the first time for such a thing.”
She took a deep breath. “Please continue.”
“The archbishop will issue the special license, and Mr. Hodgson from St. George’s will be here on Thursday to conduct the wedding and see that you are both listed in the registry. You can sign it at a later date, once Lord Thaddeus is able to walk again.”
“It all sounds extremely precarious.”
Kit grinned. “You have rather lived your life that way.” He reached down and took her hand, folding it into his own. “Are you certain you wish to move forward with this? There will be no going back this time.”
Mary looked again at Lord Thaddeus. Her unconscious groom. And her mind lingered on that kiss, that embrace, boththe touch of someone who adored her. Who wished the best for her.
She nodded. “Let us proceed.”
Epilogue
Monday, 6 November 1826
Kirkstone Abbey, Westmoreland
Dearest Kit,
I was extraordinarily pleased to receive your letter, which wended its way up from London with excruciating slowness, even given the speed of the Royal Mail these days. Some of the problem is that while the year has been unusually warm and dry for most of the summer and autumn, winter has found us early, dropping snows on the fells that melted quickly and turned rivers to mud and roads to slogs. News I am sure you will relish there in the heat and steam of the equator.
I am glad too that you and Beth arrived safely, despite a churning voyage, and I pray Beth will soon be delivered of a healthy child. I did worry about illness and am grateful you have not contracted anything serious as of this writing. Also encouraging is your news that Mattie and Joshua are thriving, adjusting to the new climes with enthusiasm. I do believe Mattie could make a place for herself anywhere on the globe.
As to us finding a place, I know you had doubts about us relocating to Kirkstone Abbey, but Thad has charmed Mother—although I do not know how—and seems to be thrilled with an estate life of animals, mud, and surly tenants. I worried what mood might overtake him once the isolation of winter settled in, but he spends a great deal of time with the ponies and in the library. He has also begun to write during the long evenings by the fire. I tease him about competing with Mr. Wordsworth, which he takes in stride. While his work is not of that caliber—yet—his words have found their way to publication in a few places. His desire to provide a source of income still charms me, despite how well we live on that of this estate.
Mina has grown with astounding strength, and she has begun babbling words and pulling up to walk about, as long as someone holds her hands. Which Thad does often, encouraging her even more than I do, much to the dismay of Mother, who believes such things should be left to Nanny. Although it amuses and pleases her that Mina has begun to call Thad “papa.”
