A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(119)

Margaret’s actions in coercing Alisdair to paint forgeries could not be criminally prosecuted, but that did not stop them from wounding Anne—and Barbreck—terribly. To know that two people they had each loved so dearly had conspired to hurt them so deeply was not an easy scar to bear, but it did seem to draw them closer together. Perhaps they’d realized they’d already lost too much time, and what remained was infinitely precious. As such, I wasn’t surprised when Anne was invited to Charlotte and Rye’s wedding, even as small as the guest list was.

Charlotte was positively stunning in her gown of pale blue satin with her golden tresses swept high on her head. In truth, I didn’t think I’d ever seen a more radiant bride, but it wasn’t merely her physical beauty, but also the love that shone in her eyes when she looked at my cousin. A sentiment Rye echoed standing up with her, holding her hands steadily in his.

It brought a tear to my eye, knowing how much sadness they’d both endured to get here and seeing their joy now. I found it difficult to take my eyes off them, and I suspected everyone else’s gazes were riveted on them as well. But when I looked up into the small audience populating the pews, I noticed one set of eyes staring back at me instead.

I dabbed at the wetness in the corner of my eye and smiled at Gage, feeling every ounce of his love directed at me. He looked so dashing in his deep blue frock coat, his golden hair artfully tousled. It had only been three hours since I’d last been in his arms, but I already longed to be there again.

My confrontation with Margaret had changed me. It was a situation I’d walked into with no expectation of danger, and yet Margaret had turned out to be more intent on killing me than perhaps anyone I’d ever faced. Given that fact, and its unpredictability, I’d found myself more determined to live each moment to the fullest. Whether Gage realized this or not, I wasn’t sure, but I suspected my inability to keep my hands off him might have given him some clue.

My gaze drifted to the right to find Lord Ledbury observing the ceremony with at least a look of tolerance. I wanted to believe that even a man with as callous a heart as he seemed to possess couldn’t sit there unmoved. I knew from Charlotte that he had tried and failed one last time to persuade her not to wed Rye, but she had stood up to him, as she’d pledged to do, and she seemed lighter for doing so. Or perhaps that was just her joy in marrying Rye overshadowing everything else.

Regardless, now there was nothing Lord Ledbury could do. The vows were spoken, and Rye tenderly kissed Charlotte to much applause, even from Rye’s children and a contrite Miss Ferguson, whom Rye and Charlotte had decided to keep in their employ probationally. Ignoring all protocols, we swarmed them with well wishes. I laughed as Lady Bearsden flapped her arms, tears streaming down her face as she declared how happy she was.

Later that evening, I cradled a sleeping Emma in my arms while Gage reclined on the bed beside us. Her belly full and her nose now clear, she’d drifted off to sleep. My love for her had also somehow grown deeper from my frightening experience, though I would have sworn before that would be nigh impossible. Because of it, I treasured each smile, each babble, each trusting moment she rested in my arms just that little bit more.

The chamber being so cozy and peaceful with just the three of us populating it, I was reluctant to disturb it by returning Emma to her cradle. Especially with the view I had of Gage’s muscular torso while he had his arms clasped behind his head. There was a spot on his neck just above his clavicle that I particularly wanted to press my lips to.

However, Gage’s thoughts seemed to have followed a slightly different path.

“I wonder why Margaret never took any of the paintings for herself after Alisdair died, or why she didn’t try to sell them?” he ruminated as he gazed across the chamber at the Van Dyck that Barbreck had insisted be temporarily hung in our chamber. Truthfully, I would have preferred that it be returned to the long gallery where it belonged, not associating many happy memories with it, but I knew Barbreck had intended it to be a grand token of gratitude, so I hadn’t argued.

“It was never about the money,” I told him quietly. “Or the art.”

He turned to look at me. The memory of what Margaret had done, and what she’d tried to do to me, passed between us. His hand stole into mine. “It was about control.”

I inhaled past the tightness that had settled in my chest. “She and Sir Anthony would have made quite the pair.”

He squeezed my fingers. “But neither of them will ever trouble us again.”

I breathed deep once more, offering him a small smile. “No.”

Lifting up on his elbow, he trailed his fingers across my jaw, cradling it as he kissed me. He was just deepening it when there was a knock at the door.

Pulling away, he sighed. “Who could that be at this hour?” he groused as he climbed from the bed.

Emma made a soft grunting noise, smacking her lips in her sleep, and I smiled down into her sweet face. I could hear Gage’s low voice conferring with someone in the corridor. When he turned back toward us, closing the door, he held a letter.

“That was rather late delivery,” I remarked. “Or did the staff forget to give it to you in the midst of all the excitement earlier today?”

“Anderley said the rider told Wheaton it was urgent,” he said, moving closer to the light cast by the fireplace.

I frowned, trying not to worry that something had happened to Philip, or Alana, or one of their children, or even my brother Trevor. For who else would send us such an urgent message?