The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (19 page)

Sister Agatha was soft-spoken, pious, a handsome woman who had aged with indifferent grace. It was difficult to fathom that the lady had once been a spy. When she spoke about her charitable works through the Society of St. Margery, located some half-day’s ride from the cottage, however, her eyes lit with her strength of will. The kind of tenacity and passion he’d seen on his wife’s face when she took up a task, be it tackling some knotty household problem or planning her next society event or even fighting for their marriage.

Yes, he owed a debt to Sister Agatha.

After they finished supper—a delicious stew that Penny had made, surprising him yet again with her hidden culinary skills (was there anything the woman couldn’t do?)—they continued chatting in front of the fire. Agatha took the armchair closest to the hearth, whilst he and Penny shared the snug love seat opposite.

“I cannot wait for you to meet the boys,” Penny was saying. “They will adore you.”

“I’ve heard so much about James, Ethan, and Owen that I feel as if I know them already.” Agatha turned warm yet astute brown eyes upon him. “Though for reasons of necessity Pandora wrote infrequently, she never spared the superlatives when describing your children, my lord.”

“When it comes to our offspring, my wife wears rose-colored lenses.” He winked at Penny. “Don’t believe a word she says, Sister Agatha. She’ll have you believing the rascals are angels, complete with halos and wings.”

“She used even more superlatives when describing you,” Agatha said.

“I take them all back.” Penny narrowed her gorgeous eyes at him. “Our boys are
not
rascals—they’re merely high-spirited.”

“She means this literally,” Marcus told his wife’s friend. “Owen’s spirit recently moved him to scale fifteen feet up a tree, quashing Penny on the way down.”

Agatha looked like she was fighting back a smile. “Oh dear. They take after you, do they, Pandora?”

“Luckily, they get their hard heads from their papa,” Penny muttered. “Owen didn’t suffer so much as a bruise.”

Marcus smiled. “You must come see the hoodlums for yourself, Sister Agatha. And you will be the judge of who has the right of it, me or my wife.”

“Thank you for the invitation, my lord. I’d like to pay a visit to London soon to meet your family, but with the reconstruction of the Abbey underway, all hands are needed at present. In fact, I’ll be heading back tomorrow.”

“So soon? No, you must stay,” Penny said, looking crestfallen. “We have so much to catch up on—”

“I’m needed back at the Abbey, dear,” Agatha said gently but firmly. “I came because your note concerned me. I’m relieved to see that I had nothing to worry about.”

“Out of curiosity, what did Penny’s note say?” Marcus asked.

Crinkles of humor deepened around Agatha’s eyes. “As I recall, her exact words were,
I love my husband too well to let some trollop have him. So I shall have to resort to kidnapping him and bringing him back to our cottage in the Cotswolds where our marriage first began and where I hope we can begin again.
” The lady smiled at Penny, who was blushing furiously. “The word
kidnapping
caught my attention, so I thought it best to come take a look. But clearly I needn’t have worried.”

“I appreciate your concern for Penny.” Sliding a wicked glance at his spouse, he said, “For future reference, you should know that I have given her permission to kidnap me any time the urge comes over her.”

“
Marcus
,” Penny hissed, her cheeks afire.

Chuckling, he caught her hand and kissed it, saying, “I believe that’s my cue to leave you two ladies to your reminiscing.” Rising, he bowed to Agatha. “Good evening, ma’am. It was the greatest pleasure to meet you at last.”

“The pleasure was mine, my lord.”

~~~

After Marcus left, Penny said eagerly, “Well, what do you think of him?”

“It hardly matters what I think, my dear. But from what I witnessed this evening,”—Agatha smiled her gentle smile—“he is perfect for you. Everything you said he was.”

“Isn’t he the best of husbands? I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Penny said happily.

“Yes.” Agatha’s expression grew contemplative. “And you trust him, my dear?”

“Of course I do. He’s forgiven me for being a spy, for my past. And even for lying… um, on our wedding night.” Penny’s cheeks heated.

“You’ll recall that I didn’t approve of that particular ploy,” Agatha said dryly.

“I know you didn’t. At the time, I felt as if I didn’t have a choice.”

“Dearest, I said it before, and I’ll say it again: you underrate your own worth. You always have.” Lines deepened on Agatha’s brow. “And although I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, I still blame Octavian for the role he played in that.”

At the mention of the spymaster, Penny’s midsection clenched, but she said, “That’s all water under the bridge. Marcus knows the truth now, and I shan’t ever lie to him again.”

“Does your husband know the entire truth?”

Agatha’s soft words and keen glance made Penny’s pulse skip. The other didn’t say any more—and she didn’t have to. They both knew what she was referring to.

“Everything he needs to know,” Penny said in a low, firm voice.

Leaning forward, her friend took her hands, which had turned cold despite the warmth of the fire. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. What happened to you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Penny pulled away.

“Fear is a cage,” Agatha persisted. “Truth is the key to setting you free.”

“I am free. I have a husband who loves me, a family I adore.” She swallowed. “I have everything I need.”

“I once told myself that, too.” One of Agatha’s hands reached upward, her fingers brushing against the silver locket that hung against her grey bodice. “When Harry was taken from me and in such a senseless way, it took me a long time to accept that God has a plan for all of us. Losing Harry destroyed my life as I knew it, yet his death forced me to find another path, one that has since led me to my true calling. I loved Harry with all my heart, and because espionage was his passion, I took it on too, even though I never liked it. I wanted only to help those in need—and that is what I’m doing now. In a fashion that finally allows me peace.”

“I’m glad you found that, Agatha,” Penny said tremulously. “No one deserves it more.”

“My point is that even terrible things—losses and tragedies—might bring a lesson in their wake,” the other replied. “Have you considered that perhaps the Spectre’s reemergence was no coincidence? That there might have been a reason for him to rear his ugly head when he did? That mayhap it was a sign that the time was ripe for the truth—Your Truth—to emerge?”

Darkness welled, a rising tide that filled Penny with panic. With the fear that this time she wouldn’t be able to keep it at bay. That the degradation she’d worked so hard to put behind her would destroy the beauty of her present.

“Please, speak of it no more,” she pleaded. “Let’s not ruin our first reunion in twelve years.”

Agatha regarded her for a long moment then sighed. “You know I only want the best for you, my dear.”

“I know.” Her voice quivered. “But you have to trust me when I say that things are good. I’m happy. Happier than I deserve to be.”

Reaching out a hand, Agatha cupped her cheek. “One day, my dearest…” Their gazes held; her friend’s brown eyes were solemn and a little sad. “I hope you’ll realize what you truly deserve.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next morning, Penny said goodbye to Agatha. Neither of them were for long farewells, but that didn’t prevent them from clinging to one another and promising to visit soon. Marcus handed Agatha up into the driver’s seat of the wagon.

“Please expect a donation for the Abbey. A grateful token for all you’ve done,” he said.

Knowing that he wasn’t just referring to Agatha’s charitable works, Penny felt a burgeoning of all she felt for him—for his goodness and honor.

I love him so much.
The thought ought to have been joyous; for some reason, it was tinged with desperation.
All will be well
, she told herself. It was just that the conversation with Agatha had dug up ghosts; soon they would settle again—she would shut them out, make them go away as she’d always done.

“Thank you, my lord,” Agatha was saying serenely. “I have no gift in return, but, if I may, I’d like to offer a small blessing.”

Marcus inclined his head, his arm circling Penny’s waist.

“May the both of you know the bounty which you’ve been given and surrender your trust,”—her brown eyes fixed on Penny—“in the Good Lord’s grace.”

Agatha’s words lingered after her departure, spurring in Penny a keen urgency to make the most of every moment she had with Marcus. He seemed to share this sentiment; Agatha’s wagon had barely reached the snowy woods when he swung Penny into his arms and carried her back into the cottage, smothering her giggles with his kiss.

So the day went.

That night, sated and content, Penny fell asleep in Marcus’ arms, surrounded by his warm and solid presence.

She woke up screaming.

~~~

“Penny, love. I’m here. You’re safe.”

The voice wasn’t coming from the alley. From the darkness holding her down, choking her. Her lungs strained to pull in air. Light flared, blinding her.

The floating spots faded to her husband.

It’s Marcus. It’s Marcus.
Her disoriented mind clung to those words, the details of him, the way a drowning person does to driftwood.

The worried lines on his face, blue eyes bright with concern. His chest was bare, shadows dancing over rippling muscle. He was sitting next to her, bedclothes tangled around his lean waist.

The bedchamber. The cottage at the Cotswolds.

He reached a hand to her, and she couldn’t stop the flinch.

Surprise flitted across his features. “You’ve had a nightmare, darling. A bad one. But you’re safe.” His voice was deep and soothing, the one he used with the boys when they were hurt and in need of comfort. “You’re here with me.”

“Yes.” Her insides were coiled so tightly that she could hardly get the word out.

He reached a hand out again, this time slowly, and she managed to hold still as his palm cupped her cheek. Wetness slid against his callused skin. His eyes held hers.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said.

“It… it’s nothing. Just a dream. As you said.”

“You’re shivering all over, darling. Come here.”

She allowed herself to be gathered against his chest. Her skin was chilled, clammy, and she soaked in his warmth as he pulled the blankets over them both. Cuddled against him, trembling, she could hear his steady, strong heartbeat, and it rooted her in the present. She rubbed her cheek against his hard chest, the wiry scratch of hair another needed reminder that this was real. That she was here. Not there.

I’m with Marcus. I’m safe.

“After Waterloo, I used to have dreams.” His voice rumbled beneath her ear. Easy and conversational. Lulling. “Bad ones. Of battle. Remember the time I woke you during our wedding trip?”

She’d forgotten, but the memory came back.

“Here, in this bed,” she managed.

“Yes. I woke up terrified. Of the dream, but mostly of scaring you. Of the fact that my bride of five days might think me a lunatic.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“No, you didn’t.” He stroked her hair, his touch as warm and reassuring as his voice. “What you did was hold me and make me talk about it. You listened and never judged. You did that every time I had a nightmare, and eventually, I stopped having them.”

Her pulse sped up; she knew where this was headed.

“Trust me to do the same for you, love,” he said.

“I… I’m scared.”

“Of the dream?”

“Yes. But more so…”—her voice cracked against the hard core of it—“of what you’ll think. Of me.”

“Nothing can change that. You’re my love, my Penny, and you’ll always be.”

“I almost lost you. I don’t want to risk that again—”

“Darling, you couldn’t lose me in Covent Garden on market day.”

That made her lift her head. “That’s not true. If I hadn’t kidnapped you, you might be with Cora Ashley. Our marriage would still be in danger—”

“Hell, Penny, is that what you think?” His eyes radiated genuine disbelief. “I would never go to Cora Ashley—or any other woman for that matter. You’re the only one for me. I’ve told you that.”

He had, in fact. Repeatedly.

At the time, she’d known his assurances were genuine, and she’d believed them… hadn’t she? Confusion and shame rippled through her.
Why is it so hard for me to believe?

He sat them both up against the pillows so that they were facing each other. Holding her hands in his, he said, “I acted like a bastard because I was hurt. That doesn’t excuse how I treated you, and you have my word that I’ll do my utmost not to lash out at you like that again. But you must know this: even if my faith in our marriage suffered a brief crisis, my love for you never faltered.”

“How could it not?” she blurted. “I hid the fact that I was a spy. That I… I wasn’t a virgin.”

Instinct made her brace herself. She watched his expression, waiting for it to harden.

It didn’t.

Instead, his gaze unwavering, he said, “I slept with over a dozen women before I met you, Penny. Thirteen, to be exact. Did you know that?”

She didn’t. “No.”

“Are you going to hold it against me?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you sleep with anyone after we met on the Pilkingtons’ balcony?”

“No,” she said cautiously.

“What about after our very first meeting—Christmas at the camp?”

She shook her head.

“Then I don’t care,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what you did before me. Because from the moment we met, you’ve been mine, Penny. I was just too stupid and angry to realize it when you first told me of your past.”

“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” she said in a small voice.

“So don’t do it now.” His eyes were soft, inviting. “If we’ve learned anything from all of this, it’s that we can trust our love to survive mistakes. Your lies, my foolish behavior. Our love can get us through anything.”