Page 60 of Her Notorious Rake
Dalton closed his eyes tightly.Dear heavens…
“How long has her fever been going?”
“Just a day. I started to decrease the dose of her laudanum, but her body is utterly dependent on it.”
He dozed at her bedside, waking the next morning with a jolt. Mother was still unconscious.
And Wilson stood beside him. “Sir, Miss Hayesworth is down in the parlor.”
Dalton’s heart lifted. Just hearing her name was a comfort. “Tell her I will be down in but a moment. He rose and washed his face. When he glanced in the looking glass, he was startled to find the reflection of himself pale, dark circles under his eyes.
It was clear that he’d scarcely slept the evening before.
When he made it to the parlor, he found Celeste and Gemma sitting together on the settee, chatting with friendly ease. He stopped short, and they turned at the sound of his step.
“I was just asking for Miss Hayesworth’s forgiveness for my dreadful conduct at the Nevilles. I hate that I brought the both of you such pain. I ought to have put my foot down, but I was a coward.”
“Thank you,” Gemma whispered.
Celeste leaned over, pecked her on the cheek, and rose. “I shall leave the two of you to yourselves,” she said, before darting out of the room.
Dalton hurried over to Gemma, and she rose to greet him with a warm, gentle smile. He nearly gathered her in his arms but refrained just in time. “How is your mother?” she whispered.
“Not good. She is very unwell this morning. My uncle, he—” he closed his eyes, trying to keep composed. “He has done irreparable damage to her.”
“Surely he will be tried and sentenced for his doings.”
“Oh, surely,” Dalton smiled, even as his heart wrenched in his chest. “You are fortunate to have family like your aunt, who would do anything in her power to see to your well-being.”
“Well, she shall be your family, will she not?” Gemma asked.
Laughing shakily, Dalton lifted Gemma’s hand to his lips. “Indeed. Now, how long before I can call you Lady Blakemore?”
Epilogue
One Month Later…
Blakemore watched, his knees nearly buckling as Gemma appeared at the far end of the church aisle, swathed in a cloud of white lace and silk that crowned her dark hair. His bride, his very own Gemma. His wife. It took him back to that night he’d first heard her voice through the hedgerow, her breathless recitation of the constellations. The awe in her voice over those vast expanses, far above their heads. He’d never heard anyone speak in such a way of the stars. Of course, he’d run into his fair share of scholars, even astronomers, at various salons and soirees.
But her tone spoke of something different, a passion that eclipsed the panic that had gripped him so often those days. She had bewitched him somehow, that evening. He couldn’t describe it even now, watching her ascend the aisle, dark hair black under a veil of lace, her lovely features illuminated by the light spilling in through the stained glass windows of the church.
At last, she stood before him, and together they faced the minister, who blessed them and began the sermon. The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur, until at last they were declared man and wife. Lord Blakemore and his bride, Lady Blakemore.
When they’d retreated out the front of the church, Dalton leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips. A waiting carriage received them, and the guests galloped out after them to toss flower petals. It was a small crowd, only family and close friends in attendance. Gemma clutched his arm, laughing, as a shower of petals rained down upon them, and Dalton’s heart fluttered at her touch.
As the carriage pulled away from the church, he kissed her for the second time. Gemma made a sound of surprise and when he drew back, her eyes were bright, starry.
“Lady Blakemore,” he whispered to her, grinning. “My dear lady Gemma.” He leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, “Would you care to accompany me to the Royal Observatory this week? It is to be a part of your wedding gift!”
Gemma dropped her bouquet of flowers with a cry, clasping her hands together. “Truly?”
Dalton chuckled. “Truly.”
At last the carriage reached Blakemore Manor, and he helped his new bride down to the steps of her new home. “Welcome to your new domicile, my darling,” he whispered in her ear as he escorted her up the steps. She giggled, cheeks flushing.
Once in the empty foyer, he drew her close and pressed another kiss to her lips, before his mother’s voice rang out from the nearby drawing room. “Is that you, Dalton?”
With a grin, Dalton grasped Gemma’s hand and led her into the drawing room, where his mother sat in a chair, blanket draped over her lap. She was pale, but her eyes danced with mirth when she saw them. “I do wish I could have been there at the church,” she sighed.
