George was moved.
“Thank you, Julian,” he said. “The unexpected, as you put it, will almost certainly not happen, but your assurances and the fact that you speak for Philippa too are a great comfort me. I could not ask for a better nephew—and niece.”
He wondered for the first time if Miss Debbins really had dismissed from her mind all possibility of bearing a child—and if she would welcome such an outcome of their marriage so late in her life. Her childlessness might well have caused her some unhappiness in the past. As with all else, though, he guessed that she had dealt with any disappointment with the calm good sense that characterized her. Had his marriage offer revived some faint hope in her? He sincerely hoped not.
And then Julian spoke again.
“Did you know that Aunt Miriam’s brother is in town?” he asked.
“Eastham?” George said, both startled and aghast to hear that his dead wife’s brother was in London. Anthony Meikle, Earl of Eastham, was actually Miriam’s half brother. “But he has always been a near recluse. He lives in Derbyshire. He never comes to London.”
“Well, he is here now,” Julian said. “I saw him with my own eyes just yesterday outside Tattersall’s. I even spoke to him. He told me he is here for a week or so on business. He did not seem particularly pleased to see me, however. He was certainly not inclined to settle into a lengthy chat. He was always a bit of a queer cove, was he not?”
“Don’t take his unfriendliness personally,” George said. “He would have been even less pleased to see me.” A great deal less, in fact. George stretched the fingers of both hands to prevent himself from curling them into fists. His mouth was suddenly dry.
“I did think for a moment,” Julian said, “that perhaps you had invited him to your wedding. But you would hardly have done that, would you? The two of you were never the best of friends.”
“No,” George said. “I did not invite him.”
Julian frowned and looked as if he would have said more if he could have found the words. George patted him on the shoulder and pushed away from the rail.
“It is time I returned to my guests,” he said briskly. “Thank you for your words, Julian. Thank Philippa for me, will you?”
He made his way back into the drawing room and saw that his betrothed, flushed and laughing, was still in the middle of a largish group. George smiled at the sight.
But the great welling of inner happiness he had felt mere minutes ago had been replaced entirely by the creeping, surely baseless fear.
Eastham might have had any number of reasons to travel to London. His coming here now probably had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that George was getting married the day after tomorrow. Why would it, after all? Coincidences happened all the time.
But what the devil had brought him?
7
Dora had discovered several times in the course of her life that time had the strange capacity of crawling and galloping along simultaneously. It seemed like far longer ago than one month since she had been at her cottage in Inglebrook, contented enough with her life and the set routine of her days, asking nothing more of the future than a continuation of the same. Indeed, it seemed almost like something that must have happened to someone else during a different lifetime. And yet . . . Well, she awoke on the morning of her wedding unable to believe that the month had already gone by. It seemed but yesterday that she had arrived in London with all the time in the world to adjust to the new reality of her existence.
She awoke with the panicked feeling that she had been rushed, that she was not nearly ready, that she was not even perfectly sure this was the right thing to be doing. There was a strange yearning to have the comfort and security of her old life back. This new one was far too vivid, too brilliantly . . . happy to last. The future yawned ahead, unknown and unknowable. Could she trust it? She was surprised she had slept, even resented the fact that she had. She had needed the night in which to ponder and consider.
But what was there to consider?
Was she afraid of happiness? Because it had let her down way back in her youth and she was wary of giving in to it again? She was about to marry a kind and wonderful man. She was even—she might as well be honest in the privacy of her own mind—a little in love with him. Perhaps a lot in love, though she would never admit to such foolishness outside the privacy of her own mind. In any case, she was going to marry him today. Before the morning was out, in fact. Nothing could or would stop that, for he was a man of honor. Besides, he wanted to marry her. He had come all the way to Inglebrook to propose to her, and there had been nothing in his manner since to suggest that he regretted having done so.
No, there really was nothing to ponder and nothing to fear. She threw back the bedcovers, got out of bed, and crossed the room to draw back the curtains from the window. It had rained on and off for the last four days, and the sky had been heavy with clouds the whole time. It had also been windy and chilly for June. But look! This morning the sky was blue with not a cloud in sight. The trees in the park at the center of the square below were still, not even a slight breeze rustling the leaves. Sunlight slanted through them from the east.
Oh, it was shaping up to be a perfect day. But of course it was. It would have been perfect even if it were bucketing down with rain and a gale was blowing.
It was still very early. Dora took her shawl from the chair beside her bed, wrapped it about her shoulders against the slight chill, and sat on the window seat. She drew her legs up before her and hugged her knees with both arms. She looked across the square toward Stanbrook House, but it was more than half hidden behind the trees. Was he awake yet? Was he looking across here? By tonight Stanbrook House would be her home. This time tomorrow she would be there with him. She could both feel and hear her heartbeat quicken and smiled ruefully. It was a bit embarrassing to be thirty-nine years old and a virgin while he, presumably, had years of experience behind him. Well, of course he did. He had been married for almost twenty years.