Page 29 of A Tempest of Desire
“Thought we were going to have fish.”
“The weather might have chased them away.”
“I should think you’d be able to lure them back.”
“Wouldn’t want Hollingsworth frantically worrying over your absence.”
“He’s at his country estate for a few more days, but even if he were in London, I very much doubt he’d be worrying over me.”
I would.He didn’t speak the words aloud because they had no place on this islet and were not appropriate to direct toward this woman. She wasn’t his to worry over or care about. And she most certainly was not his to reach out and tuck behind her ear the strands of hair that the breeze had freed from their plaited mooring.
“I knew my father as the Earl of Wishingham,” she said quietly, and every thought within his head stilled as he shifted his backside slightly so he could inch a little closer to her. If she was going to at last reveal something about her history, he didn’t want to miss a word. “He arrived via balloon, near the small village in Northumberland where my mother grew up. At the time, I doubt as many as fifty people lived there. None had ever seen a balloon.”
Her laugh was quick, sharp. “Nor a lord for that matter. When he married my mother in the small village church and moved into her tiny cottage that had once belonged to her parents, no one questioned why he didn’t take her to the earldom to live. He told my mother he’d never been happy there. It was haunted by sadness, unlike her residence where she’d been loved. Where I came to know that love after I was born.”
She drew her legs up, wrapped her arms around them as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, and pressed her chin to her knees. He refrained from urging her to continue, to show his impatience for her to finish the tale. He didn’t know Wishingham, which wasn’t unusual. Langdon didn’t yet sit in the House of Lords, and he hadn’t met every peer who existed, although he would ask his father if he knew anything about the man. He did find it odd that an earl’s daughter would become another lord’s doxy. Had she run away from home and been in need of money?
While it certainly wasn’t uncommon among the lower classes, he’d never heard of a lady among the nobility falling on such hard times. Surely someone among the peerage would have helped her out. Was that where Hollingsworth had come in?
“People revered him. A lord living among them. From the moment I was born, I was addressed as Lady Marlowe. Or so I’ve been told. I don’t recall the beginning of course, but any memories I have of my time in that village include being addressed as m’lady. I was special. The villagers celebrated my birth. We never did without. Individuals gifted us with this or that. I don’t imagine royalty had it any better.”
She released a long, slow breath. “My father would take me up in his balloon and show me the world from on high. I loved those magical moments... and I loved him. He was my hero. Seven years ago, when I was all of fifteen, he said he had some business to tend to, the Queen’s business he said, would be gone for a few days. As he prepared for the flight—because he only ever traveled by balloon—I begged to go with him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Mother and I watched his ascent. The wind carried him away. We never saw him again.”
He hadn’t expected that ending to her tale. “Did you ever learn what became of him?”
She shook her head. “We never received any word. Mother assumed he crashed somewhere. Although I like to think that he sailed over a rainbow and landed safely in a magical land of leprechauns, sprites, fairies, and maybe even a couple of witches. Once the rainbow faded away, no avenue for him to get back to us existed because there was no colorful arch to go over.”
She looked at him. “You can laugh at my silliness. I won’t be offended.”
In all likelihood her father had met a frightening and ugly end. He’d once seen a balloon catch fire and there had been no escape from death for the passengers aboard. All they’d been able to do was choose the ending to their story—either by fire or fall.
He much preferred the fantastical conclusion she’d drawn. “Losing someone we love—or even just someone we know—is difficult. I favor... your assumption. Maybe there is more than water on the other side of that rainbow. Perhaps there is that magical land you envision. I’m sorry I didn’t know your father. I never met the Earl of Wishingham.”
“Oh!” She laughed but this time the sound was a bit caustic. “That’s because there never was an Earl ofWishingham. My father was an utter fraud and merelywishedhe was an earl.”
Marlowe still had a time of it, dealing with the truth regarding her father. She’d had a multitude of moments when she’d been unable to reconcile the man she’d known with the man he was. Why wouldhe pretend to be something he wasn’t? Because the villagers gave him deference and were so honored by his patronage that they never insisted he make good on his debts? To impress her mother? But she would have fallen in love with him anyway. He was kind and funny and dependable—until he wasn’t.
“Well, now you can see why I put off telling you. It doesn’t place my father in a very good light. Or my mother, for that matter. That she would believe him so thoroughly. But then why would she expect him to lie? She’d grown up in a tiny village where people were honest.”
“Based upon what you’ve told me thus far, his subterfuge went on for years. How could no one know?”
“As I said, it was a small village. The people lived a simple, contented life. Few strayed far from where they’d been born. I’d wager not a single one had ever been to London. Even you didn’t doubt. You just assumed you’d never heard of him.”
“However, I’d have eventually asked my father about him or looked inBurke’s Peerage.”
“Until we came to London, we didn’t even know a book that provided the lineage associated with each title existed.”
“We?”
“My mother and I.” She wished she hadn’t started down this path. It was only that she couldn’t see a rainbow and not think of her father.One day we’ll fly over a rainbow to a land of enchantment, he’d often told her when she was small. And, oh, how she’d believed him. On a unicorn, she’d gallop over flower-adorned fields.
For some unfathomable reason, she’d needed to give voice to all the emotions swirling through her. Perhaps because she’d been convinced that she was going to die last night in that storm. Life seemed so precious and precarious at the same time. And while Langdon had not hidden his desire that she not be about, he had still managed to make her feel protected. “She waited two years for my father to return. Perhaps he had crashed, been hurt, needed to heal. Maybe he’d gone down in an isolated portion of England and had to trek over hill and dale to find civilization. At first, we discussed endlessly all the various scenarios that could be delaying his return. Over time, the discussions became less frequent. Neither of us ever voiced our worst fears. We loved him, you see. Neither of us wanted him gone.”
Langdon held still and quiet, waiting, waiting for her to gather her thoughts and continue. How she knew this, she couldn’t fathom. She experienced moments when she felt she knew him better and more intimately than she knew herself. Taking a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, she kept her gaze on the rainbow. “When I was seventeen, she decided that it was time we find his family, let them know what had happened. They would see to us, surely. See me educated in the ways of a lady. My mother was determined that I should have my coming out. After all, I was the daughter of an earl, and like her, I should marry a lord. Only properly, with all the pomp and circumstance the situation warranted. No small church and forgettable vicar for me. It was to be Westminster and the Archbishop of Canterbury. A white coach and white horses delivering me to the church. Bells ringing throughout the city. She wanted me to have what she hadn’t. As an earl’s daughter, it was what I deserved.
“The cottage sat on a small farm. We had a few animals: cows, pigs, chickens. Occasionally we’d sell one. So she had a little money set aside. But when the villagers discovered we were going to make a trek to London to claim our place among the nobility... well, goodness gracious. Some were dipping into their own coffers, a few giving us their last shilling. We were part of them, and they were part of us. We wouldn’t forget them, surely. Once we were embraced by the earl’s family, perhaps we could settle our debts.
“One of the villagers offered to ferry us in his wagon to a village where we could find a coach to take us to London. Then there was London. We found lodgings, the sort where we shared a room, a bed, with strangers. No one cared that she was Lady Wishingham and I was Lady Marlowe. We hardly knew where to begin to search for my father’s relations. Mum decided Buckingham Palace. After all, Father had told her he danced with the Queen. You can well imagine that they thought we were mad. They’d never heard of him. After several tries to be seen by someone of authority or even the Queen herself, we were finally told by a fellow dressed in livery that we needed to make enquiries at the College of Arms. Things only worsened from there.”
