Castles Ever After 02 Say Yes to the Marquess (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

E
llingworth! Ellingworth, darling, are you here?”

Clio hurried up and down the garden paths, ducking to peer under every bench and shrub, and pausing at each corner to wipe the rain from her eyes. They’d searched the entire castle already. He had to be outside somewhere.

The mud puddles sucked at her heeled slippers, slowing her down. Eventually, she gave up on them, kicking her shoes off. Her stockings were already wet through.

Slippers clutched in one hand and skirts gathered in the other, she began to race down the row of neatly trimmed hedges and arbors. The longer they went without finding the bulldog, the more her anxiousness increased. Dogs were made to withstand some rain and chill. But a dog this old, already in poor health?

Poor Ellingworth.

Poor Rafe.

It would kill Rafe if something happened to that dog. He’d taken care of the beast so faithfully all these years. Those meticulous diets, all the special veterinary care . . .

But it wouldn’t only be the wasted effort, or the disappointment of letting his brother down. Rafe loved that ugly, old dog. Clio knew he did.

And Clio loved Rafe.

She began to run faster. A thorny branch caught the puff of her sleeve, and she yanked free, ripping the fabric.

“Ellingworth! Ellingworth, where are you?”

She stumbled over a rock in the path, wrenching her ankle and nearly sprawling face-first into the mud. She caught herself on hands and knees instead.

“Damn.”

She pushed to her feet, wiped her hands on the ruined ivory silk, and trudged on, pushing her panic aside.
Focus, Clio.
Fear wasn’t helpful now. She began preparing a list of orders in her mind. The moment they located Ellingworth, she would send one of the drivers for the veterinarian. Direct the housekeeper to prepare hot water, warmed towels. Ask cook for a mince of beef, mixed with raw egg. Did dogs take beef tea? It was good for chilled people, after all.

They had to find that dog. They
would
find that dog.

As she crossed beneath an arbor, she pulled up and stopped. A flash of white caught her eye.

There. On the far side of the garden, low to the ground. Beneath the bank of apricot-colored roses. Was that . . . ?

Letting her skirts fall into the mud, she swiped aside the rain-matted hair from her brow and blinked into the rain. Her labored breathing made it difficult to concentrate. She struggled to calm herself and look sharp.

“Oh, no.”

There was Ellingworth. Huddled beneath a rosebush. Lying on his side.

Unmoving.

Please. Please, God. Don’t let him be dead.

Dread gathered like a rain cloud as she rushed toward the bulldog. Ellingworth was on the opposite side of the rosebushes, so she had to race down the length of the aisle and around the other path to reach him.

“Ellingworth, darling. Hang on. I’m coming.”

When she rounded the corner, she stopped short.

Rafe.

His dark green coat had blended in with the shrubs, and she hadn’t been able to see him from the arbor. But he was there, crouched beside the unmoving bulldog, one of his big, knotty boxer’s hands placed to the dog’s side.

Rafe didn’t raise his head. But Clio sensed he knew she was there.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. As she moved closer, all the urgency was gone from her steps. “Is he . . . ?”

She couldn’t even ask the question.

He shook his head no.

Relief flooded her as she covered the remaining distance to Rafe’s side. “Oh, thank goodness.”

Now that she was closer, she could make out the slight rise and fall of the dog’s breathing. Thank heavens.

But even though the dog was alive, all the vigor seemed to have gone out of Rafe. He was so quiet.

“Best not to leave him lying here,” she said, trying to sound cheery. “Poor old dear. The ground’s so wet and cold. Let’s bundle him up and carry him in. Don’t worry, we’ll have him mended in a trice. I’ll send for the veterinarian from the village. The one from London, if you like. There’s some excellent beef loin Cook has from the butcher. It was meant for our dinner, but it will be perfect for Ellingworth. We’ll mince it finer than—”

Rafe shook his head. “It’s no use, Clio.”

“Of course it is.”

“He’s not gone yet. But he’s going.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than the dog released a faint, wheezing breath.

“No,” she protested. “No, he can’t be dying.”

“It won’t be long now. This is the way with dogs.” His voice was quiet and emotionless as he stroked the dog’s ear. “Just how they are. They know when it’s their time. So they slip away and find a quiet place to—”

His voice broke, and Clio’s heart broke with it. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her emotion, not wanting to distress dog or man. Nevertheless, her voice wavered as she reached to stroke Ellingworth’s paw. “We’re here, darling. We’re here, just as long as you need us.”

Rafe said, “You should go inside. I’ll stay with him.”

“I’m not leaving either of you.”

After rubbing her hands together to warm them, she reached out and placed a gentle touch to Ellingworth’s paw. “What a good boy you are. How proud you’ve done us.”

Rafe stood just long enough to remove his coat. As he sat beside her, he moved to drape the coat over her shoulders. A thoughtful gesture, but Clio stayed it with a shake of her head.

She took the coat from his hands and draped it over the dog instead. “He needs it more than I do.”

One by one, their party grew.

“Oh, dear.” Daphne and Teddy made their way down the path. “Is he . . . ?”

“Soon,” Clio said.

“Jesus and all the saints.” Bruiser joined them, for once not bothering to hide his broad, common accent. “Not now. How can he do this to us now? Surely there’s something to be done.”

Phoebe found them next. “He’s fourteen,” she said, crouching next to Rafe. “The typical life expectancy of a bulldog is no more than twelve years. If you compared his existence to a human life, he would be nearing one hundred years old. So there’s really no reason to be surprised. Or, for that matter, to grieve. He had a long life.”

Rafe nodded. “I know.”

“Just the same, I . . .” Phoebe threw her arms around him in an awkward hug. “I’m sorry about your dog.”

Oh, dear. Now Clio was certainly going to cry.

Ellingworth’s breathing grew rattling, raspy.

“He’s going, isn’t he?” Daphne buried her face in her husband’s lapel. “I can’t look.”

“We’re here, darling.” Clio sniffed back her tears and stroked the dog’s wrinkled head. “We’re all here with you. Be at peace.”

And then the rasping breaths ceased.

All was quiet.

“Here you all are.” Piers joined the group. “Is that Ellingworth under the rosebush?”

No one knew what to say. Clio reached for Rafe’s hand.

“I tried,” Rafe said hoarsely. “I tried my best, but I should have known . . .”

If Piers heard him, he didn’t reply. Instead, he knelt and wedged himself between Rafe and Clio, breaking them apart. He knelt at the dog’s side and lifted the corner of the coat. “Good old Ellingworth. Did you miss me, old fellow?”

“It’s no use,” Rafe said. “He’s gone.”

“No, no. We played this game all the time. He’s only hiding. Aren’t you, pup?”

Beneath Rafe’s coat . . . something moved.

The wheezing canine breaths that had dwindled to nothing . . . resumed again. They began to grow stronger.

The dog’s head lifted. He emerged from under the coat and started to lick Piers’s hand. His stumpy tail wagged to and fro.

“Cor,” Bruiser said. “He’s alive. The dog’s alive.”

Daphne pulled her head from her husband’s lapel. “It’s a miracle.”

And perhaps it was. Ellingworth was like a pup again. Wagging his nonexistent tail, bounding up and sniffing at Piers’s hand.

“That’s a good boy,” Piers chuckled as he scratched the reviving bulldog behind the ears. “It’s fine to see you again. It’s been a few years.”

“He’s glad to see you,” Clio said.

“It would seem he’s happy I’m home.” His eyes caught hers. “Are
you
happy I’m home?”

“I . . .”

Oh, goodness. Piers had always been handsome, worldly, authoritative . . . but whatever he’d been doing in the past eight years, it had taken those qualities and honed them to weapons. The absence of any vulnerabilities in his demeanor was what convinced Clio those weaknesses must be there somewhere beneath the suave control. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt it. He wasn’t an arrogant young diplomat anymore—but a man who’d come through trials and confronted his mortality. A man who just might be ready to share those vulnerable parts of himself with another, trusted soul.

“Yes,” she said. “I am so glad to see you, Piers. You returned at the perfect moment.”

She was glad Piers had come home. She was glad he seemed to want her. She was glad he’d kissed her—just this once, and after all this time. Because now she knew, without any question, that the choices in her heart were
hers.

“I have papers you need to see,” Rafe said. Wearing a grim expression, he rose to his feet. “I’ll dash up to get them, and then we’ll talk.”

“Rafe, wait.”

Rafe shook out his arms as he walked back to the castle.

This was so like Piers. It wasn’t enough that he’d been their father’s favorite son. It wasn’t enough that he’d returned from some sort of mysterious, dashing work in the service of the Crown and would probably be decorated with knighthoods and laurels. It wasn’t enough that he had the most beautiful bride in all England ready to walk down the aisle with him this very day.

All that would have been impressive, to most men.

No, Piers had to take it one step further.

He brought dogs back from the dead.

It was too bloody much. So predictable.

Rafe entered the castle through a back entrance and began the spiraling journey upstairs.

But someone had followed him.

“Where are you going?” Clio’s voice echoed up to him from the bottom of the stairwell.

“To get the dissolution papers. I’ll speak with Piers. We’ll have this settled today.”

“Surely that isn’t—”

He cut her off. “It’s too late. Don’t try to argue. We both know you could be carrying my babe even now. You said it last night. There’s no going back.”

“You . . .” She caught up to him in a patter of steps. “You think I’ve changed my mind?”

“I don’t fault you.” He resumed climbing. “Believe me, it’s nothing new. Who wouldn’t prefer him to me? My father certainly did. All our tutors and nursemaids adored him. Even the damned dog likes him better.”

He heard her give a little laugh. “I thought I wasn’t the dog!”

He reached the top of the stairs and turned into the corridor. “I tried to warn you. I told you you’d regret chasing after me. I told you Piers cared for you—even if he didn’t show it.”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it changes anything.”

He flung open the door of her bedchamber. “Where are your things? Your maid already put them away.” He strode toward her writing desk. “I imagine she’d put the papers in here.”

“Good Lord, Rafe. It’s like you’re not even hearing me.”

She dashed ahead of him, plunking herself on the top of the desk before he could search the drawers.

“Clio, move.”

“No.”

“Move, or I’ll move you.”

She caught him by the shirtfront. Her gaze snared his. “Remember your bout with Espinoza?”

What?

The question caught him completely off guard. Yes, he recalled his bout with Espinoza. He recalled every detail of each of his fights. But that was three years ago. What could it possibly have to do with anything?

“I know he nearly went down in the fourth,” she said slowly, frowning at her lap in concentration. “But then he recovered. The two of you battled several more rounds. I can’t recall quite how you finished him. Wasn’t it a facer in the ninth round?”

“It was a blow to the kidneys. In the thirteenth. What of it?”

“Nothing of it.” Her gaze came back to his. “I just needed you to calm down so we can talk.”

Holy God. She understood him so well. He would love, bleed, crawl, beg, and die for her—just for that alone. And she thought he would let her go?

The devil he would.

He’d snapped into focus now. Perhaps it was the talk of fighting. Or perhaps it was just her.

She was lovely. A beautiful bride, in her ivory silk. That subtle blush rising on her cheeks.

He braced his hands on the desk, on either side of her. “Downstairs. You looked so . . . I meant to . . . And then he was there. I’ve spent how many months wishing and waiting for my brother to come home. Hoping to make amends. And when he touched you, I wanted to punch him in the face.”

“It’s understandable if you’re angry with your brother.”

“That’s the most irritating part. I can’t even be angry with him.” He made a fist and tapped on the desk. “Just look at him. It wasn’t enough that he was a diplomat. He risked his life in service of the Crown. He’s probably a goddamned hero. He apologized to
me.
He’s always perfect. Always better than me, no matter how much I accomplish.” He looked her in the eye. “But he did one thing wrong. He stayed away one day too many, and now it’s too late. He can’t have you.”

“No. He can’t. Because I don’t
want
him. Rafe, you know I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t, really. He knew she kept saying so, but it was just so damned difficult to believe. Every time he tried to wrap his mind around it, his heart attempted to make a mad break from his chest.

It didn’t make any sense.

She framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Yes, Piers is a good person. Yes, it appears he cared more for me than I believed. Yes, maybe he’s even a hero. I’m relieved beyond anything to see him back in England safe, and I’m so glad he came home when he did. Now there won’t be any doubt.”

“There’s no doubt. You’re marrying me.”

“Of course I am, you ridiculous man.” She released a breath. “You say your brother is perfect? Well, apparently I prefer men with flaws. Maybe Piers is one of England’s heroes. Rafe, you’re mine.” Her grip tightened on his shirt, and she pulled him closer. “Do you hear me? You’re mine. I’m claiming you, and I won’t ever let go.”