The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (18 page)

Marcus placed a hand on his mama’s shoulder, feeling the frailty beneath the black velvet. “Thank you, Mama. We’ll be along soon.”

“Take your time. And Blackwood… you’ll have a care, won’t you? These things affect ladies differently than gentlemen. You give life to something, and seeing its flame extinguish,”—her voice wavered a little, and he knew she was thinking of James, the son she’d lost—“it’s not easy, my boy. Not easy at all.”

After seeing his mama and the boys off in the carriage, Marcus headed over to his wife.

Penny stood beneath the graceful, curving branches of a maple. Her black gown and her own dark coloring made her stand out against the burnished brightness of the leaves, but she looked pale and wan. When she lifted her gaze to his, a pang resonated in his chest. Bewilderment and pain. The throbbing ache of a wound only three days old.

Quietly, he said, “Mama’s taking the boys for a while. We can stay here as long as you want.”

She nodded dully, her gaze returning to the small marble headstone. A wreath of pink flowers that she’d made lay against it. He stood by her side, for once uncertain what to say or do. How to give comfort when there was none to give.

Her low voice broke the silence. “Do you know,” she said, “I overheard one of the villagers gossiping when I went to buy the flowers.”

“Gossiping about what?” he said, frowning.

“One of them was saying what a lot of fuss was being made over a stillborn babe. She said that this happens all the time in the village, and here we are acting as if the sky has fallen.”

Fury ignited, roaring through him. “Do you know who it was?”

“She was just speaking her mind.” Penny drew a wobbly breath. “But it did make me think: why
do
babes have to die? Why did our little girl,”­—her voice hitched—“have to die?”

Her question twisted his gut. All he could say was, “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it could be punishment… for past wrongs, sins I’ve committed?”

“God, no,” he said, appalled. “Of course not. How could you think such a thing?”

“Sometimes I wonder about it. If I had been a better person, led a more sinless existence—”

“Penny, look at me.” He lifted her chin, the sheen in her violet eyes tearing the scab off, making the wound bleed anew. He said firmly, “One has nothing to do with the other. Life is mysterious. Bad things happen for no reason at all.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered. “Flora—my mama, I mean—she had a saying.
As you sow, so shall you reap
.”

Shadows angled through her gaze, her lashes wet and spiky. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he forged on heedlessly, driven by the need to slay any pointless, needless guilt that she might be feeling.

“Even if that were true, you’d have nothing to worry about. You’re a lady, sweet and pure. What wrongdoing could you have possibly committed?” He tucked a fallen curl behind her ear and felt her tremble. “If we were to be judged by our sins, between the two of us, surely I’d be the one most deserving of punishment.”

“That’s not true. You’re a hero,” she said in a scratchy voice.

“During the war, I committed atrocities. So many of them. You know—you’ve witnessed my nightmares.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “I wish to hell that I hadn’t done those things, but there’s no changing the past. I did what I did in the name of duty, and I have to live with it. But it has nothing to do with our little girl dying.”

“Your actions were honorable. You protected your country.” She touched his arm. “Marcus, you’re the finest man I’ve ever known.”

“And you, my love, are the finest woman I’ve ever known. You’re a doting mama to three healthy boys and a loving wife to me. You’ve given us the gift of happiness and love. Surely that must erase whatever sins you think you may have committed,” he said tenderly.

Her lips quivered. A tear slipped from the corner of her right eye.

He gathered her in his arms and held her against him while sobs shuddered through her. His own eyes heated, prickling with wetness.

Even after the storm passed, they stood together for a long while. With leaves shedding around them, he tightened his hold on his wife as they kept vigil with the angel who had passed all too fleetingly through their lives.

Finally, he said, “It’s getting cold. We should go inside.”

Penny nodded, and he took her hand, intending to lead her away.

“Marcus.”

He turned his head to her, giving her an inquisitive look. “Yes, love?”

“I just wanted to say… I still don’t know why this had to happen. And I haven’t made my peace with it.” Her eyes were very bright. “But I’m glad that you are here with me.”

His chest clenched, his grip on her hand even stronger. “I’ll always be here, Penny. That’s what marriage is. Being together through every season, no matter what it brings.”

Her smile was small and tremulous. Her fingers squeezed his.

Together, they made their way back home.

Chapter Twenty-Two

December 1829

For Penny, the time at the cottage proved to be a second wedding trip. The husband she adored was back and, truth be told, things between them were better than ever. And she wasn’t thinking just of the lovemaking (of which there were several daily episodes, each time different and creative, and
all
of it sublime).

She hadn’t realized just how much her secrets had burdened her through the years, weighing her down like a water-logged coat. Shedding the past made her feel freer than she ever had in her marriage. That Marcus could accept the things she’d done as a spy… she hadn’t known how important that was. ’Twas as if her soul had been corseted all this time, and now the strings were loosening, allowing her to breathe more fully.

True, her one despicable secret remained… but since Marcus had said the past didn’t matter, she’d decided to let that sleeping dog lie. She wasn’t about to reveal her dishonor when she didn’t have to. If this decision made her lily-livered, then so be it. She’d rather be a coward with a husband who loved her than a brave fool who’d risk losing everything she’d just won back.

She told herself that things were already better than ever between them. No need to gild the lily and risk mucking everything up in the process. No, best to leave things as they were. After all, Marcus had forgiven her, didn’t condemn her for her sins. She no longer had to constantly fear exposing herself and could give freer rein to her impulses. In fact, her husband seemed to delight in it when she did.

On just such a whim, she suggested they take a walk on the third day. Marcus at first balked, preferring the cozy warmth of the cottage and, waggling his brows, offered up a naughty alternative to braving the outdoors. But seeing as she could still feel the tingling aftermath between her thighs from their bout before breakfast, she was able to remain steadfast in her plan to get them some fresh air and exercise.

Thus, a half-hour later, she found herself walking hand in hand with her spouse through the woods surrounding their property. The bright afternoon sun sparkled off the ice-crusted branches and untouched fields, its warmth making their fur-trimmed hats and gloves almost unnecessary.

Breathing in the crisp air, she said, “See? I told you it wasn’t too cold for a walk.”

“Perhaps not for you, you hot-blooded wench.” Marcus’ eyes, as blue as the clear sky, smiled at her. “But some of us prefer lounging in front of the fire over freezing our arses off.”

“We lounged in front of the fire all day yesterday.”

“Yes, and what splendid lounging that was.”

Seeing as how they’d both been naked, their limbs entangled and other body parts joined as well, she couldn’t disagree.

“I don’t recall you being quite this randy before, Lord Blackwood,” she teased.

He stopped, turning to her and curling a gloved finger beneath her chin. “I’ve always wanted you, Lady Blackwood. It took almost losing you to realize how much.”

Her throat clogged. Blooming hell, she loved this man.

He touched his mouth to hers, and they walked on. The light covering of snow crunched beneath their boots, and seeing the pair of tracks they left behind them on the unblemished white canvas made her feel as if they were the only two people on earth… at least for the next few days. They reached the edge of a small pond, and she looked out onto the tranquil surface, contentment bobbing within her.

“Penny, there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“Hmm?” Her gaze caught on a lone bird floating on the water. No other birds nearby. Brave thing, taking on the elements alone.

“Did I make you feel like you needed to lie about your past?”

Her eyes flew sharply to Marcus’ face, and seeing his furrowed brow, peace fled her. She’d thought they’d agreed to put her past behind them. Had he changed his mind already? “I beg your pardon?” she said.

“No, love, don’t look worried. I meant what I said: what you did before our marriage doesn’t matter to me.” The earnestness of his gaze anchored her. “But our relationship­ does matter, and I want to know if there was anything about
me
—anything that I could or should have done—that would have made you confide in me earlier.”

Her pulse steadied. She shook her head. “It wasn’t anything about you, Marcus. You’re the most trustworthy, honorable man I’ve ever met. That’s why I fell in love with you in the first place.”

“It wasn’t my Adonis-like looks?” He quirked a brow.

“Well, that too.” Knowing that he was trying to lighten the conversation and make it go more easily for her, she dug up as much of the truth as she could. “Growing up as I did, I learned that survival depended on trusting no one. My training as an agent honed that instinct. Then I met you, and suddenly my whole world seemed topsy-turvy. I wanted things I didn’t think were possible for a woman like me.”

He studied her, said quietly, “A woman like you?”

As always, she felt bared by his intense gaze, those vivid blue eyes penetrating all her layers… down to the ugly core. She swallowed her sudden panic. “A spy, I mean. Someone who’d done terrible things—even if they were done in the name of justice.”

“Penny, you are the sweetest, bravest, and strongest woman I know.”

His praise flooded her like sunshine, chasing away some of her shadows, but she said truthfully, “I’m not sweet.”

“To me, you are.” He cupped her cheek, warm leather against her cool skin. “Knowing what I do now about what you survived and the world you came from only makes me marvel more at the sweetness of your love. I don’t know how you endured such harshness to become the woman that you are. I only know that by some miracle you’re mine.”

Her vision blurred. “Don’t make me cry. My lashes will freeze together.”

“I have no intention of making you cry ever again—unless those tears are ones of joy. But I want you to know that you can talk to me about the past… about anything.” His thumb traced the slope of her cheekbone. “I want you to know that you can trust me.”

The moment hung between them like their puffing breaths. She felt the albatross of shame hanging around her neck and wanted to free herself, yet it tightened like a noose. Fear choked her, the memory of being powerless, the pain, the feeling that she would never be clean again. And, worst of all, there was the fear of losing him.

Perhaps Octavian had been right after all.
You can take a girl from the gutter but not the gutter from the girl.
She’d come a long way, yes, but she’d never be able to stop looking back. Not completely. And she wouldn’t burden Marcus with her disgrace.

“I do trust you,” she whispered.

But I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust that I’m good enough for you.

His eyes searched hers. “All right, love,” he said finally.

She was relieved when he let the matter drop. They continued on their walk, their conversation turning to lighter topics as they completed the loop around the pond. By the time they headed back toward the cottage, her mood had lifted again. Their banter had grown downright flirtatious. She was giggling, dodging his playful hands, as they approached their love nest.

The laughter stuck in her throat when she saw a rustic horse-drawn wagon by the cabin. Pushing aside a pile of blankets, a woman wearing a plain grey coat descended from the driver’s seat. Although twelve years had passed since Penny had last seen that gentle face and those warm brown eyes, it suddenly felt like only yesterday. With a cry, she ran forward, slipping a little in the snow, and threw her arms around her friend.

“Flora,” she said breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”

“I received your note, and I had to come make sure you were all right.” Flora’s gaze went to Marcus, who remained at a respectful distance, his expression curious. “If need be,” she said in a low voice, “I was going to pretend that I was a stranger lost in the woods who just happened by your cottage.”

“You don’t have to pretend. I told Marcus about you… although he doesn’t know that you’re alive,” Penny said, her tone equally soft.

“Did you tell him everything about your past?” Flora whispered.

Penny bit her lip. “Most everything.”

Understanding rippled through Flora’s eyes. She said quietly, “The troubles between you, my dear—are they patched up?”

“Yes. He’s forgiven me for deceiving him.” Expelling a breath, Penny smiled and linked her arm with her friend’s. “Come and meet him. I think you’ll approve.”

“If he loves you the way you deserve, I already do,” Flora said.

~~~

If learning that Flora Hudson was still alive and now administered to the needy as Sister Agatha came as a surprise to Marcus, then
seeing
Penny with Agatha proved a revelation. He’d witnessed his wife occupying many roles: doting mama, loving wife, caring mistress, glittering society hostess… she was a woman who could do anything she put her mind to. Yet he didn’t think he’d ever seen this relaxed and youthful side of her.

Her joy was childlike, contagious, giving him a glimpse of the vulnerable, sweet girl she might have once been. The one that Agatha had clearly had a hand in raising. For it was clear to him that Penny and Agatha were kin, even if they didn’t share blood. And he was filled with profound gratitude for this lady who’d clearly taken his Penny under her wing.