Page 59 of Her Notorious Rake
“Indeed. I do. I do.”
***
“Do not be cross with me, Mama, for accepting Lord Blakemore’s proposal of marriage.” Gemma sank to the floor at her mother’s feet in the quiet, dark parlor, lit only by the blazing fire in the hearth.
“Cross with you,” Mama sighed. “I do not begrudge you your decision. I do ask you to thoroughly consider this. I merely wish to see you happy and secure, with whomever you do wed. And I understand that this Lord Blakemore has something of a questionable repute.”
“I believe I was quite adrift, dear Mama, when I encountered him. My one guiding star knew that I wanted a love like the one you shared with Papa. And I did not find that in Lord Neville, or even Vicar Jennings.”
Mama’s eyes glistened in the firelight. “Ah, I remember how it was between your Papa and myself. We danced, and Isomehow knew, deep down. Of course, we still had time after that to become acquainted, but it was so utterly strange, to simply know something. When you describe how it was, when you met Lord Blakemore, it caused me to remember that night Oliver and I danced.”
“You hardly speak of Papa,” Gemma whispered. “I wish you would tell me more of him in those days. What he was like when the two of you were courting.”
“In some ways, he reminds me of your Lord Blakemore. Headstrong, intelligent.”
“Does he?” Gemma laughed.
“Yes. Your father was something of a rake himself, but he left his ways behind him when we met.” Mama smiled down into her lap, with a wistfulness in her expression that wrenched at Gemma. She could not imagine the pain her mother had gone through when Papa was found as he was that dark day. Truthfully, she’d done her very best to block it all out, to stifle it in her memory.
“I still miss him so very much,” Mama choked, blinking away tears and dabbing at them with her handkerchief. “He would be so very proud of the woman you’ve grown into.”
“I miss him as well, Mama,” Gemma said, rising and throwing her arms about her mother’s trembling shoulders. “And I want you to be with me, wherever I end up with Lord Blakemore. We’ve spoken of buying a place out here, away from the city. His own mama would join us. She is very kind, though I don’t know her so well. I’m eager to see her again soon, when she is better.”
“The poor creature. Poisoned, by her own husband’s brother. How wicked people can be!”
“Very wicked. But Dalton is—he’s so good and kind, and strong…his soul speaks to mine.” Gemma leaned her head against Mama’s knee, scarcely able to believe that so much hadchanged in but a few days.
Dalton and Gemma returned to London by carriage a few days later, where he brought her to the Kenway house. Aunt Philippa greeted them, for they’d sent her a note ahead with a runner while in Willow Grove.
She embraced Gemma, and then turned to Dalton, her voice sharpening. “My niece has written to me an explanation of everything that has happened. Of course, this hardly blots away your repute as a rake. That is indisputable, is it not? I do have sympathy for your situation with your uncle, and his ill-doings. But Gemma is my dear brother’s only child. As such I will do everything in my power to see that no harm comes to her. Do you truly wish to wed her, or is this another one of your flights of fancy?”
Dalton smiled.Quite fair.He had to admit, he respected the plain-spoken woman for her determination to look after Gemma. It was endearing, and almost enviable. His own uncle had sought his destruction at every turn. Philippa was a relieving contrast to Ernest Blakemore.
“Lady Kenway, Gemma is far more than any flight of fancy. I adore her with all my heart, and it will be my keenest desire to ensure her happiness, in every way I possibly can. I will be the first to admit that my past is wanting, but back then, I was lost, searching for I knew not what. And then I met Gemma, and she reminded me of the goodness that is in this world, the goodness that is worth going to battle for.”
“Quite a noble speech,” Lady Kenway narrowed her eyes. “You are a very charming young man.”
“So I have been told,” Dalton smiled.
Lady Kenway peered at her niece. “I expect that your mind is quite made up?”
“Indeed it is, Aunt Philippa.”
“Very well. Pray, Gemma, when will your mother arrive in town?”
“As soon as she finds someone to watch our cottage while she is away. Someone must feed our cats their saucers of milk.”
Dalton chuckled at that, unable to tear his eyes from the young woman seated on the settee. Her eyes shone, her cheeks flushed, her lips curved into a bright smile. Her laugh was infectious. Was he so fortunate to marry such a sublime woman?
That evening, he returned to the Blakemore Manor, where he found his mother still in bed, sleeping fitfully as the physician, Dr. Mackenzie, looked on. Theodore had found him promptly after overseeing Ernest’s arrest.
Now, Dr. Mackenzie was taking care of Mother as she weaned off the laudanum Ernest’s spurious physician had treated her with. It still enraged Dalton to even think about, but as he sank into the chair at his mother’s bedside, and watched her pale face, twisted with pain, his gut cinched with a bone-deep anger towards his uncle. How much pain and turmoil had the man wreaked because of his sickening greed?
The man had murdered father, and had been slowly killing mother, sedating her with these tonics. Dalton lowered his head to her hand, lifeless and burning hot beneath his cheek. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her after already losing Father.
Turning, he glanced at Dr. Mackenzie, hoping the physician would have some kind of idea of how long these symptoms would last.
“It’s difficult to know how long this sort of thing can go on. From the sound of it, she’s been taking the stuff for the past several years since your father’s death. Heaven knows how much her body has come to depend upon it.”
