The early morning drizzle had given way to a cold, driving rain by the time the funeral ended. Blake ignored the rain and the biting chill and the dozen or so mourners who stood in the rain gaping at him as he hurried past them and leaped into the black-draped carriage. He ordered the driver to whip up the team and set out for Fairhall where he knew Cristina would be waiting.
London traffic was light on such a cold, rainy afternoon, but the rain made the cobblestones treacherous in the older part of the city and progress was frustratingly slow. The snail's pace of the carriage added to Blake's impatience. He shifted in his seat, cursed the weather that slowed him down, and ordered the driver to increase his speed at least a hundred times before he reached Fairhall.
He opened the door and jumped out of the carriage as it rolled to a stop. He ran the few steps from the sidewalk to the front door and descended upon the quiet house with the force of a gale wind. He shoved open the heavy front doors without knocking and began searching for Cristina.
He shouted her name over and over, his voice echoing dully through the empty rooms. "Cristina, where are you?"
Cristina recognized the impatient shout the moment it reached her ears and hurried from the kitchen, where she had spent the past hour sharing a pot of tea in companionable silence with Leah.
She collided with Blake in the dining room and began covering his face with warm, eager kisses.
"Blake, you came!" It was all she could think to say.
He held her at arm's length and studied her face. "I came as soon as the funeral ended. I suppose you know about Meredith."
Cristina nodded.
"I'm so glad to see you," he admitted. "So glad that I can't decide whether I should beat you for following me here or make love to you to show you how glad I am you did. Countess, why on earth did you come here when I asked you to wait for me in New York?" Blake tried to sound annoyed, but his smile ruined the effect.
"I had to come. I love you and I was worried about you. And with good reason, I see...." Cristina reached up and lightly touched the pattern of the ugly little scar that marred his perfect face. "It's been over two months. I knew something was wrong when you didn't return when you said you would. And I was right. You've been injured."
"I'll be fine now that you're with me," Blake told her. "Don't worry. It's all over now. She can't hurt us anymore." He smoothed the worry lines from between her brows.
"But what..." The unanswered questions bubbled to the surface.
"Not now, Cris. I'll tell you all about it later, but right now I simply want to hold you." Blake wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "Cris, Cris, I wanted you to stay in New York. You were safe there. How could you risk your life by coming here?" Some of the urgent fear poured through Blake's voice as he demanded an answer.
"I didn't think about my life," she answered simply. "I only thought about yours."
"Didn't you think about the consequences?"
"Almost as much as you did," Cristina interrupted him. "I thought about the consequences of my actions about as much as you did when you wrote that ridiculous document. You took an awful risk yourself. And I'm not talking about Meredith. Blake, I nearly married Roderick just to spite you and then you'd have been a pauper!"
"You know about that?" Blake was surprised.
"I had to find out about it sometime, didn't I?" Cristina retorted. "And yes, I forced the information out of my father."
Blake smiled down at her and began caressing her hair. "I can just imagine." He laughed. "What did you do? Threaten him with a letter opener? Ah, my fiery redheaded countess, what am I going to do with you?" He kissed her hair and sighed expressively, but Blake knew exactly what to do with her.
"Love me," she said.
And Blake needed no further prompting.
It was a wildly exciting reunion for the both of them. Blake was pleased to notice that Cristina continued to meet him as an equal partner. She wasn't a shy girl any longer. She was a fully grown woman in love with her man and fully aware of the passion she aroused. She was demanding and eager in her lovemaking, but she was also generous and she returned in full measure the pleasure Blake gave to her. She held his happiness inside her heart just as he held hers and she accepted that as she accepted breathing; finally ready to face the heady responsibility of loving someone and being loved in return.
"I have something to tell you. A surprise," Cristina confided as she lay snuggled against Blake's shoulder.
"Hmmm," he breathed, sated and half-asleep.
"I'm going to have another baby."
Her calm announcement jolted him into complete wakefulness. He sat up in bed, stared at Cristina in the dim light as if seeing her for the first time, and began to laugh. "I should have known!"
Cristina bristled at his laughter and pulled away from him. "I don't see anything funny about this situation. I'm pregnant again and still not married and you have a year of mourning to honor. I don't find the situation funny at all." She regally tucked the covers around her body and turned her back on Blake.
"Sweetheart," Blake chuckled, softly in spite of her angry display, then kissed a bare shoulder blade. "Some women crave strange, exotic foods when they're expecting a baby, but not you. You're unique. Whenever you get pregnant, you hop a boat or a train and leave town. I suppose you crave new cities like other women crave sweets. And I suppose I'll have to tie you to the bed to keep you at home or we're going to have a house full of children with remarkably diverse citizenships," he teased.
"You don't understand," Cristina accused.
"No, my darling countess, you don't understand," Blake corrected patiently. "I don't intend to waste a year mourning Meredith. I don't intend to waste any time. I've decided that if I don't catch you between princes, I won't catch you at all. We'll telegraph your father in the morning and invite him to the wedding and I'll give him exactly three weeks to get here."
Cristina turned back over to look at him. "And then?"
"And then after the wedding we're going on a long honeymoon."
"Where?"
"Vienna, I think," Blake told her.
"Vienna? Why?"
"Because a certain friend of yours has a small castle he'll let us borrow. And now that he's engaged to a very proper Catholic princess, I think I can trust him. I really do like the royal rogue, except when he's around you."
"He won't be around me. I'll have a husband to see that he isn't." She threw her arms around Blake's neck and kissed his lips. "I would like to go back to Vienna. It's a lovely city and I want to do all the things I couldn't do when I was a 'kept' woman." Cristina smiled angelically, then began an exploration of Blake's body that tested the limits of his control.
"You'll still be a kept woman," Blake reminded her. "I intend to keep you beside me for the next fifty or so years. And this time it will be very legal. No escaping."
Cristina paused a moment and pretended to deliberate. "And what if I don't like being a legally married woman?"
"Then you can just go back to being my mistress. Any time you please," he added wickedly.
They were married in the chapel of the home of Blake's parents, the marquess and marchioness of Everleigh, exactly three weeks to the day of Meredith's funeral.
Cristina wore her presentation gown, altered yet again to allow for her slightly expanded waistline, the plunging d?colletage modestly covered by an embroidered white silk shawl. Blake wore a formal morning suit with a single gaudy white satin rosette pinned to the lapel.
William Fairfax gave his daughter's hand into the keeping of Blake Ashford, ninth earl of Lawrence, while Lord and Lady Everleigh, Lady Wethering, Ambassador and Lady Paget, Nigel Jameson, Stanley Cason, Leah Porter, Albert Mead, Sarah MacKenzie, George Perryman, Tom Hudson, and the staff of Lawrence House proudly looked on.
Blake's parents warmly w
elcomed Cristina into the family, completely laying to rest the worries Cristina had felt at meeting them for the first time the day before her wedding.
It was quite obvious to everyone at the wedding that the bride and groom were completely besotted with one another and that made a world of difference in Lord Geoffrey's and Lady Cecilia's opinion. Their son was happily married at last.
After the brief ceremony, Blake took Cristina by the hand and led her out of the chapel, a short distance down a narrow path behind it to a private graveyard.
"Where are you taking me?" Cristina asked.
"Here." Blake stopped suddenly and looked down.
The tiny mound was covered in etched marble and a miniature angel bowed its head in prayer at the base. Tears formed in Cristina's eyes and glided silently down her cheeks as she read the inscription:
NICHOLAS FAIRFAX LAWRENCE
JANUARY 1, 1879
BELOVED SON OF BLAKE AND CRISTINA,
EARL AND COUNTESS OF LAWRENCE
"This is why I left you behind in Vienna, Countess. I didn't want Nicholas buried all alone in a Viennese cemetery. I brought him home to be with his family." Blake paused to wipe away a tear and to gain control of his shaking voice. "I didn't want to leave you behind, but you couldn't travel and I had to do this for Nicholas. For my firstborn son."
Cristina held her husband's hand, squeezing it tightly before she brought it to her lips and kissed the palm. "Thank you."
Blake stared down at the little grave. "I wanted you to know he was buried here. I couldn't take you to Vienna and have you wonder where our baby lay. I couldn't let you go back to Vienna with too many unhappy memories. It's important to me." Blake embraced her, holding her next to his heart. "I was attracted to you in London. I desired you in London. But I didn't fall head over heels in love with you until I saw you again in Vienna. I can't explain it, but it will always be a special place to me."
"Oh, Blake," Cristina smiled through her tears. "You've given me everything. I have you and our new child and a home and a family. I'm surrounded by love. I'm whole at last."
"So am I, Cristina," Blake whispered. "So am I."
Look, how my ring encompasseth your finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 1564-1616
*Epilogue*
A chorus of cheerful exclamations rang out as the ninth earl of Lawrence popped the cork on another bottle of champagne and filled the remaining glasses of the staff of Lawrence House. He emptied the bottle and raised his glass to make the toast.
"To my beautiful and beloved wife Cristina, and to all the wonderful things she has brought into my life--love, happiness, and now our daughter, Bethany."
"Hear, hear!" There were more cheers and the clapping of hands and the clink of crystal as the staff members drained their glasses in salute to the young woman who had touched their lives with love and laughter.
The birth of Bethany an hour earlier had been quick and easy and the staff of Lawrence House had thanked their lucky stars for that because the lord of the house had been raging like a wounded tiger during the last month of his lady's confinement. The staff of Lawrence House had survived three months of rule under an anxious, expectant father and in some ways that was reason enough to celebrate.
Blake smiled broadly at the cheers and laughter, accepting it as his due for the stress and strain he had endured during the last month, then slipped away from the crowd and crept stealthily up the stairs to the master suite carefully balancing a tray containing three glasses of champagne and an intricately carved black box.
Blake quietly opened the bedroom door and tiptoed inside. He deposited the tray on the Queen Anne dresser, removed two glasses of champagne and handed one to the doctor.
"She's beautiful, isn't she, Nigel?" he said as he sipped his wine and watched the sleeping forms of his wife and newborn daughter.
"Cristina or the baby?" Nigel smiled indulgently.
"Both," Blake grinned proudly. He grinned a lot lately, and also smiled and laughed. The change in him was remarkable. Gone were the lines of disillusionment and bitterness that had once framed his mouth and the corners of his eyes, and in their place were laugh lines. Blake Ashford had become a happy, supremely contented man. Loving Cristina had done that to him. It had erased the harsh edges of his personality and the ugly, bitter memories of the years with Meredith.
Even Blake found it hard to believe that only six months earlier he had witnessed the destruction of Willow Wood and had impatiently endured the funeral of a woman he had married but had never truly loved. It seemed a million years ago. Another lifetime ago. He ran his long, lean fingers through his unruly hair and smiled crookedly, recalling the outraged whispers and the raised eyebrows of his associates when he married Cristina barely three weeks after the funeral.
Well, he thought, there would be a few more raised eyebrows and more gossip for the grist mill when Bethany's announcement appeared in the newspapers. Strange that he didn't mind a few raised eyebrows these days.
"What are you smiling about?"
Blake came back from his reverie and found Cristina studying him with an interested sparkle in her emerald eyes.
"I was just remembering my ride across London after Meredith's funeral. How my abrupt departure scandalized the mourners. And how glad I was to see you and how angry I was with you for leaving the safety of New York."
Cristina's answering smile was slowly sensuous as she also recalled their reunion. "You have an interesting way of showing your anger, milord."
"You have an interesting way of arousing it," Blake replied meaningfully.
"Uh-hmm ..." Nigel cleared his throat, pointedly reminding them they were not alone. "I think I'll go downstairs and celebrate little Bethany's birthday with the rest of the family. The atmosphere up here is positively indecent," Nigel teased. "I would never guess the two of you have been married six whole months." He smiled at the three of them and exited without another word.
"Well, milord, how do you like her?" Cristina asked when they were alone.
"She's marvelous, Cristina." His chest seemed to puff out several inches. "And you were terrific. You came through with flying colors and so quickly, too." Blake was visibly relieved that her labor had been brief and easy. He didn't think he could have survived another twenty-hour ordeal. "I think I must be the luckiest man alive to have you and our daughter."
"Except for her feet, she looks just like you." Cristina busied herself counting the tiny, red toes of the baby's long, narrow feet. "She has your black hair."
The infant stirred restlessly at her mother's breast and eagerly began searching for nourishment.
"She's like me in other ways as well," Blake chuckled wickedly. "She seems to have a healthy appetite for two of the finest things in life."
Cristina blushed at the hungry look in his eyes and turned her attention back to the baby.
Blake walked to the dresser and returned with the black box. He placed it on the bed beside Cristina. "I have something for you, sweetheart. A gift."
Cristina stared at the carved box. She smiled at him as she read the inscription. "Blake, it's lovely."
"Open it," he encouraged.
Cristina handed Blake the sleepy baby and picked up the box. She lifted the lid and was stunned to find the box full of emeralds and diamonds. "It's the necklace Rudolf sent to me. The one you accused me of stealing. Why are you giving it back to me now?"
"Because it's yours," Blake said simply. "I was wrong not to believe you. I'm sorry."
"Blake, you don't have to give me this jewelry. What happened in the past doesn't matter anymore."
"This matters.
This necklace is part of our lives--part of what brought us together in the first place. An intricate part. When you left London with Rudolf, it was a reminder of you and what I thought was your betrayal. I was wrong. So now I want you to have it and remember everything we've shared and all the obstacles we've had to overcome to be where we are today."
"But there's more...." Cristina lifted the necklace and discovered the matching pieces. "A bracelet and earrings. Blake, I don't understand...."
"They go with the necklace."
"Someone did steal this necklace from you," Cristina replied matter-of-factly. "There's more to this than you're telling me."
Blake nodded his head in agreement. "I bought the necklace a long time ago as a gift for my bride. When I realized I'd married the wrong woman, I decided against giving it to her. It remained locked in the safe at Lawrence House for years until it was stolen and sold and somehow found its way into your pocket--the pocket of the right woman."
Cristina was completely quiet, waiting for him to continue the story.
"It's a very long story, my love, and someday I promise to tell you all of it, but right now I want you to say that you'll accept this gift for what it was meant to be--a gift from a loving husband."
Cristina couldn't doubt the sincerity in his voice, but there was something familiar about that certain gleam in his eyes that made her a little wary and more than a little suspicious.
"I'll accept the necklace and the matching pieces on the condition that you tell me the real reason you're so determined that I have it. We don't need symbols of our love. We already have living proof of that." She nodded toward the baby sleeping in her father's arms. "I believe what you say, my darling husband, but I suspect that your motives for giving me these aren't exactly noble. Tell me."
"You drive a hard bargain, milady."
"Tell me," Cristina demanded again.
"They match your eyes." Blake's handsome face was completely guileless as he walked around the bed and placed Bethany in her cradle.
Cristina relented and held out her arms to her husband. "You say the nicest things. I've always loved your way with women--especially me."
A wolfish grin replaced the innocent look on Blake's face. "And I've always had a burning desire to see a certain red-haired countess lying beneath me wearing nothing but diamonds and emeralds that match her enchanting eyes...."
Cristina's leer matched his own. "I have remarkable healing powers, milord," she assured him.
"Promise?" Blake asked urgently.
"Always," Cristina answered firmly, pulling him down to lie beside her.
*Author's Note*
During Queen Victoria's reign, presentations at court marked the formal entrance of a young woman into fashionable society. In 1878, ladies were presented to the queen at "drawing rooms" held at St. James's Palace. The court balls, which the queen did not attend during her years of mourning, were held elsewhere, usually at Buckingham Palace, and presided over by the Prince and Princess of Wales.