The Black Diamond (11 page)

"I see your point," Slayde conceded. "What good does Aurora's new status do her if nobody knows of it." His eyes narrowed suspiciously on his wife's angelic expression. "Mysteriously receive word of the upcoming event? Surge beyond Devonshire the very next morning? Why do I sense one of your schemes in the making?"

"No schemes. Simply a discreet missive delivered to Lady Altec an hour before the ceremony takes place—enough time to race off to tell her friends, not enough time for anyone to intrude upon the event. Also a few tasteful announcements of what will then be an accomplished fact to appear in the
Morning Post,
the
Gazette
, and the
Times
on the morning following the wedding—timing that will thereby preclude any unsavory types from using Aurora's wedding day as an opportunity to descend upon any of us or upon Pembourne in search of the black diamond. By the time the newspapers—or Lady Altec, whoever travels more swiftly—reach the eyes and ears of the
ton
, Aurora will be away from Pembourne and the curse."

Julian's jaw dropped, although he noted no one else in the room seemed to share his surprise. Clearly the countess's serene facade was a deceptive cloak for a character as strong and resourceful as Aurora's—the sole difference being that Courtney's fire simmered while Aurora's flared.

Abruptly Julian understood how these two women had become such close friends.

"How does that sound to you, Julian?" Courtney inquired.

"It sounds brilliant," Julian heard himself reply. "However, I must say that the true congratulations here belong to your husband. Living with one tempest is enough. But two?"

For the first time, a semblance of a smile tugged at Slayde's lips. "I appreciate your commendation—a well-deserved one, I might add."

Aurora groaned.

Courtney tossed Julian a challenging look. "One thing more. If we hold the ceremony away from Pembourne, it will give you the opportunity to accustom yourself to the responsibility that—according to my husband's mutterings over the past half hour—you vowed to assume: that of keeping Aurora safe."

"A test, my lady?" Julian suggested boldly.

Courtney's gaze shifted from Julian to Aurora and back, her eyes twinkling with pleasure. "I think not. An onset, Your Grace."

Julian chuckled, welcoming Courtney's spunk. "In that case, I'd be delighted to shoulder my new role as Aurora's protector the very instant she becomes my wife."

"Good." Courtney turned to her husband. "Slayde?"

Still, Slayde hesitated. "The ride to the village might be too much for you and the babe."

"Our child isn't due to make an appearance for more than a month beyond Aurora's chosen wedding day," Courtney reminded him gently. "As for the ride, it's scarcely a mile from Pembourne to the village. Both the babe and I will fare wonderfully, my love. I promise."

"Fine." At last, Slayde seemed to be convinced. "A wedding it is. At the village church. With a party to follow, here at Pembourne. Would that please you, Aurora?"

"Oh, yes," Aurora breathed. "Very much." She grinned at Courtney. "T
hank
you."

"You're more than welcome," her friend answered in that tranquil way of hers.

"Julian." Slayde's tone and expression had lost all traces of lightheartedness. "There's one last issue we must discuss, that being the reality of your father's grand proclamation prior to his death. I realize there was no affinity between the two of you; however, I need to know your intentions with regard to his investigation. Do you mean to continue it, to support his ludicrous claim that I'm harboring the black diamond here at Pembourne? If so, you'd best tell me now before you whisk away my sister, then insert her between us."

Julian felt Aurora's pointed gaze—a gaze not furrowed in worry over where his allegiance might lie, he noted t
hank
fully, but one that was bright with curiosity over how he proposed to address Slayde's query—one Julian himself had been anticipating.

"The answer, Slayde, is no," he returned smoothly. "I don't intend to pursue my father's so-called investigation. And not because I won't come between Aurora and her family—although I respect her feelings for you and Courtney—but because I've already perused my father's papers thoroughly, and they're no more than an empty and grasping crusade conducted by a mean-spirited man. His entire investigation consists of a notebook filled with empty accusations and rambling avenues that have turned up nothing. There isn't one shred of tangible evidence there, nor even a concrete path worthy of pursuit. Certainly nothing to compel me to further his course. In fact, I'd all but decided to dispose of his notes when it occurred to me you might want to see them, to assure yourself that I speak the truth." Julian gestured toward the window. "The papers are in my carriage. My footman will fetch them before I leave. Read them at your leisure. Then do with them what you will. In the interim, I'll make a public statement retracting my father's accusations. I might not be able to undo all the damage he caused, but perhaps I'll shake some reason into people, succeed in deterring a few prospective thieves from invading Pembourne. Does that satisfactorily address your concerns?"

Slayde gave an audible sigh of relief. "It does."

"Have we covered all your objections, then?"

"To my amazement, yes."

"Good." Julian's fingers tightened about Aurora's. "Then 'tis time to embrace the future." He turned to his bride-to-be, gave her a conspiratorial wink that spoke volumes. "The future—and all it entails."

Chapter 5

«
^
»

"
A
h, Rory. Excellent. It's five minutes past six. You're just in time for tea and sunrise. A half hour for the former, a quarter hour for the latter."

Mr. Scollard brushed a shock of white hair from his forehead and gestured toward the tray of refreshment laid out in the Windmouth Lighthouse's small sitting room. "Come. Sit by the fire. It will warm the winter chill away. As will the tea."

"Fortifying tea, I hope," Aurora replied, slipping out of her mantle and crossing over to accept the proffered cup of steaming brew. She had long since given up being surprised by Mr. Scollard's foreknowledge of all her visits—a knowledge based not on firsthand scrutiny of her approach, but on some innate awareness that only Mr. Scollard possessed. One simply accepted Mr. Scollard's visionary abilities as a given, part of what made him the remarkable man he was.

"Very fortifying. Stronger than usual." He indicated a platter piled high with iced cakes, three of which he placed on a plate for his guest. "I made more of your favorite cakes, too. After all, this is a celebration of sorts. Even if the path leading to this all-important threshold was strewn with your customary impatience and impulsiveness." He arched a pointed brow at Aurora, then settled himself on the settee. "I don't know what I'm going to do about that reckless nature of yours," he declared, kindling the fire to a higher blaze. "'Tis a good thing I soon won't have to contend with it alone."

"Mr. Scollard." Taking his cue, Aurora plopped down in an armchair, leaning forward and staring earnestly into his face. "Have I done the right thing? Am I making a mistake? Have I totally lost my mind? I never truly imagined I'd marry at all, much less wed Julian Bencroft. What should I do?"

"My suggestion? Drink your tea. It won't stay hot forever."

"Really?" Aurora shot him an I-know-better look. "I rather suspect it might. 'Tis your tea, after all." Dutifully she drank down the whole cup, feeling that extraordinary surge of energy Mr. Scollard's tea always produced. She then proceeded to gobble up one of the cakes she so relished. "Um. Delicious," she proclaimed between bites. "But three of them? Even
I
have never managed to devour more than two." Gratefully she accepted the refilled cup Mr. Scollard handed her, then bit into her second cake. "Although I am hungrier than usual this morning. Perhaps I can indulge myself just this once. Not a crumb more than three, however. I've already been measured for my wedding dress—late yesterday afternoon, in fact. The modiste will have my head if all those exquisite yards of silk and lace don't fit."

"Wedding dress?" Mr. Scollard's forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Oh, yes. That delicate silver and white gown you've envisioned since you were five; a gown you obviously never imagined wearing, given the fact that—what was it you just said?—ah, given the fact that you never truly imagined you'd marry at all."

Aurora's lashes swept her cheeks as her friend's message found its mark. "Very well, so I daydreamed a bit as a child. Oh, all right," she amended, feeling Mr. Scollard's penetrating gaze. "So I
still
daydream now and again. That doesn't mean I ever thought I'd actually realize my dream."

"Of course not. Because you couldn't conceive of a man interesting enough to spend your life with. A man as vital and alive as you. A man with a thirst for life and a hunger for adventure. A man like Julian Bencroft."

Silence, but for the crackling flames of the fire.

"Or is it not the idea of marriage itself that's rendered you so off balance," Mr. Scollard pressed gently, "but the idea of marriage to this man in particular?"

"Everything about Julian Bencroft renders me off balance. I don't think I've righted myself since we met."

"And that disturbs you? Odd, I thought it was tedium you found disconcerting."

"I did. I do." Aurora gave a dazed shake of her head. "Listen to me. I don't know what I'm saying, much less what I'm feeling. Please, Mr. Scollard, help me."

His vivid blue eyes shone with equally vivid memories. "Your expression … your plea … you sound much as another did not too long ago. Another whom you love very much."

A sage nod. "You're speaking of Courtney."

"Surely you recall how she grappled with her feelings for Slayde?"

"Yes, but that was different."

"Was it?"

"Definitely. Courtney and Slayde fell in love. They shared their thoughts; they understood each other … why, Courtney transformed my brother into an entirely different man."

"After being thrust unexpectedly into his life—yes, she did. As Slayde did for her. My point exactly." Mr. Scollard took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Love is an astonishing force. Stronger than all other forces combined. Except perhaps fate. Fate, much like you, is not only fervent, she has a definite mind of her own. It appears she's decided to insert herself in your life."

"For good or for ill?"

"Your instincts say for good." A glimmer of humor. "Evidently so does your balance. Else it would have found a way to right itself by now. Two days have passed since you met the duke, and one sleepless night has elapsed since his proposal—and his revelation. Surely that's enough time to regain your sensibilities."

Aurora sat bolt upright, having scarcely heard Mr. Scollard's final sentence. "So you
do
know."

He shrugged. "There's much I know, still more I don't."

"Exactly what is the
much
to which you refer?" Aurora asked cautiously, guarding her words in a way she'd never anticipated doing with her oldest friend.

A smile touched Mr. Scollard's lips. "Your honor is as fierce as your spirit. I'm proud of you, Rory. The duke requested secrecy, and secrecy you have granted. Despite the tragedies you've faced, the limitations that have so thwarted your need to fly, your character has flourished. You'll make an exemplary wife, at least for one as uncommon as you." With that, Mr. Scollard set down his cup. "Now, to address your question about the much to which I refer. I refer to Geoffrey Bencroft and James Huntley. Fine men, both. Loyal to their country. Brave and intelligent—with an insatiable thirst for adventure. Much as the great-grandchildren they begot. The ones who have inherited their legacy and are soon to be joined in a partnership as profound as that of the Fox and the Falcon—a partnership that is identical in some ways, splendidly different in others." Mr. Scollard's eyes twinkled. "I needn't elaborate on the differences. In any case, Geoffrey's mind was keen, perceptive, cunning as that of a fox. James's tactics were flawless, unfailing, lethal as those of a falcon. 'Tis wrong for their memories to remain tarnished. Just as it's wrong for the black diamond to remain unrestored to the sacred temple from which it was taken. But none existed who could right those wrongs. None until now."

Aurora sucked in her breath. "If you were aware of all this, why didn't you tell me?"

"The legacy wasn't mine to share; therefore, I saw only smoky fragments, wisps of truth—until yesterday when the duke opened that chest. Suddenly the haze lifted and my vision cleared."

"Then tell me, is it Julian's and my fate to fulfill our great-grandfathers' quest?"

"You have much to fulfill, equally as much to be fulfilled. Both those tasks pose daunting challenges."

A sigh. "And of course, it's too soon for you to predict whether we'll meet those challenges."

"Meet them you shall. Surmount them?" A resigned shrug. "I see only that which is offered for my sight."

Aurora propped her chin on her hand. "Tell me about Julian."

"What is it you wish to hear?"

"Anything. I need your guidance."

An insightful look. "Do you?"

"Of course—yes." Aurora felt utterly exasperated. "I'm marrying a total stranger, a man as transient as a gypsy, as fleeting as the tide, and as overwhelming as the forces of nature."

"I concur wholeheartedly." Mr. Scollard placed a fourth cake on Aurora's plate. "All the more reason to gather your strength. Excitement can be quite taxing. As can freedom, adventure, and, of course, passion."

That
brought her up short. Aurora cast a swift sidelong glance at her friend, wondering how to interpret his comment. Oh, she hadn't a doubt that he'd deliberately chosen the very words Julian had used to describe her future as his wife. But by passion did Mr. Scollard refer to a vast ecumenical passion for life? Or did he refer to something far more intimate? Could he actually perceive the wild explosion that stormed her senses each time Julian took her in his arms?

Her perusal provided no answers. The lighthouse keeper's expression was nondescript as he calmly stirred sugar into his tea. "Your betrothed is not totally dissimilar from your brother, Rory," he asserted. "Remember, autonomy is often a result, not a choice."

Aurora's speculations vanished, her mind racing off in this new and significant direction. "Especially in Julian's case; his father was a horrid, vengeful man."

"Indeed."

"What do you know of his mother?"

"Only that she was a quiet, docile woman whose health was as weak as her will. She died twenty years ago. Julian and his brother Hugh were lads at the time. Sadly, Hugh inherited his mother's frail constitution."

"Hugh was the same age as Slayde."

"Yes, senior to Julian by a year. Hugh and Slayde entered Oxford simultaneously. Unfortunately Hugh fell ill and died during that first term."

"I recall Slayde being terribly distressed when that happened," Aurora murmured. "As were my parents when Slayde told them the news. Obviously my family thought highly of Hugh."

"He was a good man, honorable of purpose, generous of nature. Quite different from his father and grandfather."

Aurora frowned. "And from Julian?"

"Not in principles, but in fact. Very different."

"Were they close?"

"In heart, yes."

"In heart," Aurora repeated. "Does that mean they cared about similar things or about each other?"

"Feelings are best expressed by those who experience them," Mr. Scollard replied.

A discouraged sigh. "If that's an answer, its meaning eludes me."

"That's because the answer you seek is not mine to convey. You will hear it from another, to whom the answer and the feelings belong. At which time, the meaning to which you refer will become abundantly clear—to both of you."

"If that
another
is Julian, I'll have to assume he talks in his sleep. As you yourself just pointed out, my betrothed is a very autonomous man, not one to expose his feelings—to anyone, much less a wife."

"The merlin is deceptive."

"Not
this
merlin," Aurora countered. "Certainly not like his namesake, the merlin falcon, who appears to be small and nonthreatening. No, Mr. Scollard, Julian is anything but deceptive. He's overwhelming in every way—stature, presence; he looks every bit as threatening as he is."

"But is he every bit as threatening as he looks? Or is that a deception unto itself; one of which even the duke himself isn't aware?"

Aurora blinked, thoroughly confused. "I don't understand what you mean."

"You will." Mr. Scollard patted her cheek and rose. "Soon. Now come. 'Tis time to climb to the tower and watch the onset of the new day. Then I must get on with my chores and you must get on with your daydreams." Another twinkle of those omniscient blue eyes. "By the way, fret not. Your wedding dress will fit perfectly. Four cakes or not."

* * *

As always, Mr. Scollard was right.

Thirteen days later, the dress
did
fit perfectly. Although, Aurora mused as she pirouetted before the looking glass, was the impeccable fit the result of Mr. Scollard's prophecy alone or had it something to do with her own inexhaustible bursts of energy—the bubbling anticipation that had made settling down for meals virtually impossible?