Miracle (65 page)

The current wrapped around them and gently ushered them out of the chapel. With his arm around Miracle's waist, Clayton kicked his way to the surface. He helped Miracle into the boat, then he clamored aboard, released the rope that moored the dinghy to the crucifix, and battled the next eternal minutes to drive them toward the elusive steps.

Miracle leapt first, then held out her hand for Clayton. He grabbed, and missed. The boat whirled. It slammed against the face of the Undercliff, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed the fragile craft would disintegrate around him.

"Jump!" came Miracle's voice through the crash of waves and thunder. "Clayton, darling, jump!" She held out her white hand to him. He grasped it. Clung to it. If he went into the sea now, he was a dead man. He would be crushed in a matter of seconds upon the rocks.

He jumped, and hit the steps hard.

Suddenly, Miracle was there, her slender arms around him, holding him close, her soft lips pressing kisses across his salty face and mouth. Feeling as if every muscle had been bruised, every bone broken, Clayton wearily caught her little face in his hands and laughed.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven,
Meri
Mine?"

"How could I doubt a man who conquered his greatest fear to save me, my lord?"

Pulling her close, Clayton shut his eyes, and with a smile, whispered, "My greatest fear was losing you, my love."

Enter Juliet

Here comes the lady; —O, so light a foot

Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:

A lover may bestride the gossamers

That idle in the wanton summer air,

And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

Juliet: Good even to my ghostly confessor.

Friar
: Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us

both.

Juliet:
As much to him, else are his thanks too much.

Romeo
: Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy

Be
heap'd
like mine, and that thy skill be more

To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath

This
neighbour
air, and let rich
musick's
tongue

Unfold the
imagin'd
happiness that both

Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Juliet:
Conceit, more rich in matter than in
ivords
,

Brags of his substance, not of ornament:

They are but beggars that can count their worth:

But my true love is grown to such excess,

I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Friar:
Come, come with me, and we will make short work:

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,

Till holy church incorporate two in one.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Epilogue

Certainly, the wedding would be talked about for the next several seasons. Imagine! Five hundred guests had converged on Basingstoke Hall, believing they were to witness the duke of Salterdon's marriage
to . . .
what was her name?

Instead, the
bride
had wed Salterdon's brother. His brother! What could the girl be thinking? To marry a mere lord, instead of a duke. Obviously, her mama had never instilled in her a sense of priority.

Miracle felt like a princess. Her gown was white satin and lace, the bodice fit snugly across her tiny waist and slightly flared over her hips to spill in multiple layers to the ground. The pearl-studded lace sleeves formed points on the backs of her hands. A band of lace and pearls encircled her pale, graceful throat and flowed in a heart shape down over her chest. A bustle of white satin spilled from the small of her back, and tiny pearl buttons ran the length of her spine, where her back was exposed by a heart-shaped film of sheer lace.

Her veil, two partial garlands of embroidered olive branches met in a
vee
in the center of her forehead, and upon that tiny point dropped a tear-shaped pearl. Small bouquets of embroidered flowers, with pearl pistils and pearl-encrusted leaves spilled just behind her ears, and from there, a diaphanous webbing of lace flowed to the small of her back.

She carried a bouquet of white roses.

The sun shone bright on her wedding day. Barely a breeze stirred. The guests had spread out over Basingstoke's grounds, the ladies fanning their warm faces with peacock feathers, occasionally whispering to themselves.

Sitting comfortably on Napitov's back, lightly gripping the silver reins, which connected to his headstall of silver formed into a pearl-studded
vee
across his browband, Miracle smiled down at her father, as John led the silvery white Arabian stallion down the red-carpeted aisle to her husband to be.

Basingstoke, with His Grace at his side, smiled at her with as much pride and love as she felt that moment in her heart. How could she doubt his devotion? He would have gladly sacrificed his life to save hers.

Oh, to be so loved at long last! To be so cherished! To look forward to her future, not with whimsy or a fear of loneliness, but to dream of long, spectacular nights in his arms, of the children they would conceive together, of the dreams they would strive for and attain.

Clayton's hands lifted to her. She slid from Napitov's back and into his arms.

They exchanged their vows.

He slid a diamond and pearl encrusted ring on her finger.

With champagne flowing like water from a fountain, Lady Basingstoke and her husband, who obviously worshiped the rose petals on which she walked, greeted each guest with a smile. The last to approach them was the duke and the dowager duchess of Salterdon.

Her cheeks turning warm, Miracle raised both eyebrows as His Grace caught her hand in his. His eyes were no longer cold, but surprisingly warm. His smile was genuine, and not so unlike his brother's.

"Welcome to the family, my lady," he said in a fond voice. When she thought to withdraw her hand in one last show of feigned disapproval, he gripped it more tightly. "You would have made one hell of a duchess, isn't that right, grandmother?" he said to the duchess, who regarded Clayton and his bride with a sense of smug satisfaction.

"Obviously," she replied, her eyes surprisingly glassy, her smile a trifle unsteady. "Would I have chosen less for Clayton's bride?" Then raising her dignified chin, she turned her gaze to Salterdon and announced, "You're next, of course, if it's the last thing I ever do."

"Never," he declared and, hooking his grandmother's arm through his, they moved away. "As God is my witness, grandmother, you will never manipulate me into matrimony."

"No?" Glancing back over her shoulder, she winked at Miracle and smiled. "We'll see, my darling boy. We'll see."

Clayton slid his arm around Miracle's waist. He bent and kissed her and pressed a paper into her hand. "A gift
from my brother; a peace offering, so to speak, just in case you were skeptical about his sincerity."

Miracle gazed at the writing, her heart climbing into her throat.

"Trey had a word with cousin George about the horses. Pointed out they would make one hell of a wedding present—"

"They're mine?" She smiled. "All mine? Legally, I mean. I needn't worry—"

"You never need to worry over anything ever again,
Meri
Mine. Not as long as you love me."

She swayed against him, allowing the warmth and strength of his body to fill her up and his love to enfold her.

"You asked me once if I believed in miracles." He smiled into her sparkling eyes. "I didn't, until I found my own Miracle . . . and she made me believe in forever."

Laughing, Miracle danced away. Seeing Ellie and John walking together, she called, "Ellie! Quickly!" then tossed the bouquet of roses into the startled woman's hands.

Lifting her satin skirts, she ran down the path toward the vine-covered cottage. Tomorrow they would begin their life together in the manse, but tonight, ah, tonight they would spend their hours in the simple privacy of the carriage house . . . and mayhap she would whisper to him of the miracle that stirred even now inside her. Their miracle—conceived in true love.

Their promise of forever.

Acknowledgement

My thanks to Tracy
Caruth
, of
Caruth
Arabians for allowing me to use the name of her beautiful silver-white stallion, Napitov, in this book. Thanks also for allowing me the opportunity to share in Nap's greatness by purchasing his awesome young son,
NapPoleone
.