The Last Word Page 17

“Precisely.”

  David gently set Lucinda on her feet and opened the door to the private parlor. The room was no longer used, so all the furniture was covered and the curtains drawn. David closed the door behind them and walked to the windows to open the curtains. He yanked them back, releasing a swarm of dust mites into the air. He looked over his shoulder at Lucinda. She pulled off the sheet covering the sofa and sat.

  “Perhaps we should do both types of talking,” she suggested.

  David nodded and took a seat beside her. He reached for her gloved hand. “May I hold this?”

  “Yes, please,” Lucinda replied, placing her hand in his.

  “I have missed you more than I can possibly express.”

  Lucinda wrinkled her nose. “Then why didn’t you come visit me again after you left Silas Marner?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to. I thought you were still angry with me. You wouldn’t even look at me,” he said. “And Mrs. Patton told me you needed time to heal.”

  To his surprise, Lucinda laughed. “Poor Mrs. Patton. What a trial I was to her. I do hope her new charge will be more to her taste.”

  “Your father dismissed her?”

  “She resigned when she saw my pantaloons, and Father gave her a generous bank draft as a goodbye,” Lucinda said. “Had I known adopting reform dress would rid me of the woman, I would have adopted it sooner. Do you like them?” She lightly kicked her feet forward to show them off.

  “I like you,” David replied.

  “I am not the same as I was, David,” Lucinda said. She swallowed. “We can forget about our light flirtation and remain friends, I sincerely hope.”

  David lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You may not be the same, Lucinda. But my feelings have not altered.”

  Lucinda pulled her hands from David’s and took off each of her gloves, showing him her scars. David took off his own gloves and gently took her hands into his. Softly, he ran his thumb over the brand of the doorknob, and then placed the gentlest of kisses into her palm. Then he took her other hand and did the same.

  “I may never hold a pen again,” Lucinda said. “My hands may never regain their former mobility.”

  “I am not in love with your hands.”

  “Love?” Lucinda asked breathlessly.

  “Love,” David repeated, then cupped her face with his hands. “I love you more than I had ever dreamed was possible. I realized how much you meant to me when you were surrounded by flames. I knew then there was nothing I would not do for you. I spoke to your father on your behalf—”

  Lucinda pressed a finger to his lips. “I know. He told me—chief financial officer. It has a nice ring to it.”

  David kissed her finger that was on his lips. She smiled at him, her smile that lit up the room.

  “You are supposed to say something,” David whispered, his lips nearly brushing hers.

  “My mother was an Irish immigrant,” Lucinda said, watching him closely for his response.

  David blinked. “And that is why my mother didn’t visit your mother or you.”

  “I did not know until after the fire,” Lucinda explained. “I demanded my father tell me about her. Her name was Jane Johnston. She was an Irish orphan, the daughter of spinners who made stockings and gloves. And I resemble her greatly. So much that my father has difficulty looking at me.”

  David caressed her hand softly with his thumb and said at last, “She must have been very beautiful if she looked like you.”

  “She was so very beautiful,” Lucinda said. She paused before asking, “Do you mind that I am not … that my origins are quite common?”

  “You are anything but common. You are rare, for I have never met anyone else like you,” David said. “And that is why I love you. And you were going to say…”

  “Words are always inadequate,” Lucinda whispered, pressing her lips to his.

  David returned the kiss, softly exploring her mouth with his own. He moved his lips down to the line of her jaw and made a row of kisses. He saw two pink blemishes on her neck that had not been there before. He softly pressed his lips to each one.

  “Words are inadequate,” David said as he kissed her just below her ear. “But I am a businessman. I need to hear every word. Every particular.”

  He felt her roughened hands gently graze his cheeks and run through his hair. She stood slowly and then sat on his lap.

  “Is this seat taken, sir?”

  David only grinned in response and put his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

  Lucinda put her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “Mr. David Randall, I love you. I love your every particular. From the hairs on your head to your toes that I look forward to treading on for the rest of my life.”

  And then she kissed his ear, his cheek, and his lips. It was like no other kiss. This kiss was as hot as fire and burned him from the inside. He gently pulled the net off her dark curls and explored her silken hair as they continued to add kiss upon kiss until at last breaking off for breath. Lucinda tucked her head underneath his chin, and he cradled her against him.

  She pulled her head away from his chest and pressed her hand against his coat pocket. David heard the rumple of paper.

  “What is this?”

  David pulled the thrice-folded paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Lucinda’s eyes widened in surprise. “You purchased Wincombe Park from Mrs. Smith?”

  “You said you liked it,” David reminded her.

  Lucinda laughed. “I did.”

  “Perhaps you and your father would be willing to visit me there?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, and kissed him on the nose. “If you plant a row of thornbushes.”

  “I’ll plant an entire garden of them.”

  * * *

  David and Alfred stood in the vestibule of St. Mary’s Church waiting for the rector. It was a medieval building, the brick masonry a patchwork of colors. A large stained glass window gave most of the light to the building, depicting St. Mary with an enormous halo encircling her hair. Alfred began to pace back and forth. Back and forth.

  “Where is the blasted rector?” Alfred asked.

  David heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting outside the door. “I believe he is indisposed.”

  Alfred hit his fist against the stone wall of the church. And then cursed as he shook out his hand. “The wretched man is sick today, of all days.”

  “This is why you have groomsmen,” David said calmly. “Tell me in which direction I will find the closest rector and I will return with him as fast as I can.”

  “There’s a small village not two miles away,” Alfred said. “Follow the south pike road and you can’t miss it.”

  David clapped his cousin on the shoulder and strode quickly out of the church. He climbed into his cousin’s carriage and directed the driver where to go and to get there as quickly as possible. The driver took him at his word, driving at such a pace that the carriage shook and David felt rather ill. He covered his mouth with his gloved hand, breathing in and out slowly. Alfred didn’t need two people in the marriage party sick today.

  The carriage stopped in front of a small rectory adjacent to a village church. David hopped out and dashed up the steps to knock on the door. A serving girl answered, her doe-like eyes widening when she saw David in his silk cravat and elegant wedding clothes.

  “Is the rector here?”

  “This way, sir,” she said, giving him a quick bow.

  She led him from the small entry to an office. She knocked on the door before opening it. “A gentleman to see you, Rector.”

  David entered the room and saw a small man, roughly somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age, with an abundance of white hair and thick bushy sideburns connected to a mustache, but a clean-shaven chin. He stood when he saw David.

  “Now, what can I help you with today, sir?”

  “I am Mr. Randall; my cousin is Lord Adlington, the Earl of Adlington,” David explained quickly.
“He is getting married today, but the rector of St. Mary’s is suffering from a stomach complaint and is unable to perform the ceremony.”

  “And you wish for me to take his place?”

  “Please, Rector,” David said and then added, “Immediately.”

  “Give me a minute to get my coat, hat, and holy robes. I will be with you in a trice,” the rector said, giving David a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Randall. They will not start without us.”

  David nodded.

  The rector returned in less than two minutes, wearing his coat and his hat and carrying his robes in a box. He accompanied David into the carriage, and the driver departed with all haste.

  The rector interweaved his fingers on top of his box, seemingly unperturbed by the carriage’s careening progress. “Perhaps you can fill me in on a few details before we arrive.”

  “I would be happy to.”

  “You have already told me that the groom is Lord Adlington,” the rector said, “but what is his full name?”

  “Lord Alfred Peregrine Daniel Randall, fifth Earl of Adlington.”

  “Very good,” the rector said. “And the young lady’s name?”

  “Miss Persephone Merritt.”

  “Merritt?” the rector said, as if he were trying to place the name.

  “American,” David clarified.

  “Ah,” the rector said, folding his arms.

  David noticed a black armband around his arm, indicating the rector was mourning someone.

  The rector must have noticed where David was looking, because he said, “My sister died a few months ago.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Our lives in this world are so fleeting,” the rector philosophized. “But special moments like today make life worth living.”

  David agreed warmly, though he was not thinking of his cousin’s wedding, but rather of Lucinda.

  The carriage stopped, and David gestured for the rector to leave first. The rector left the carriage and, without a glance back at David, entered the side of the church. The next time David saw the man, he was fully dressed in his holy robes, standing at the front of the chapel next to Alfred. They were illuminated with color as they stood underneath the stained-glass window. David walked up to the front of the church and took his place at Alfred’s side.

  David looked around the chapel and was pleased to see it nearly full. His mother and relatives were sitting on the left side. David recognized several London acquaintances and many of the servants from Keynsham Hall on the right side. And then, standing in the doorway, was Lucinda. She looked like an angel surrounded by the soft light of the narrow windows. Dressed in white, the top of her shoulders bared, and white flowers in her short, dark curls. She caught his eye and gave him a smile of the purest light. And then the smallest of winks.

  Lucinda was no angel, but he didn’t want an angel. He wanted an equal.

  Miss Antigone Merritt carefully arranged the long train of her sister’s wedding dress. She hugged Persephone and then took her place in front of her, beside Lucinda. Mr. Merritt held out his arm to his elder daughter, and the organist began to play the wedding march. Everyone in the room stood and watched the procession. Miss Merritt looked strikingly radiant in her wedding attire.

  The ceremony began. David paid little attention to what the rector said; he was much too focused on Lucinda. And then at last, it was over. He got to escort her out of the chapel, following behind the bride and groom.

  “You almost made me laugh at least a half dozen times,” Lucinda whispered. “You stared at me the entire ceremony—it was disconcerting.”

  “You will have to get used to it,” he whispered back.

  David assisted Lucinda into a carriage, and then Miss Antigone. He shook hands with several of the guests as he worked his way back to the front of the chapel. The rector was not there. David looked around the vestibule and saw him dressed in his normal clothes, once again carrying his box of robes.

  “There you are, Rector. Would you like to stay for the wedding party at Keynsham Hall?” David asked politely. “Or shall I direct the driver to take you home?”

  “I am fond of parties,” the rector said. “But perhaps I should return home to St. Ivy’s. In my hurry, I failed to mention to my wife where I was going.”

  “Give my apologies to Mrs.—” David began. “I am afraid I do not know your surname, Rector. In all of the rush, I seem to have lost my manners.”

  The rector merely smiled. “Mr. Topliffe, pleased to meet you properly, Mr. Randall.”

  “Topliffe?” David echoed as he shook the man’s hand.

  “That’s the name I was born to.”

  “Topliffe,” David repeated. “Topliffe. I have heard that name before. But where?”

  “Really?” the rector said. “’Tisn’t a common name.”

  “Bertha Topliffe!” David said more loudly than he meant to.

  Mr. Topliffe exhaled slowly. “Were you acquainted with my late sister, Mr. Randall?”

  David shook his head. “I am afraid not, Mr. Topliffe. But I did have the pleasure of making Mrs. Burntwood’s acquaintance. She said your sister was the author Mrs. Smith.”

  “Aye,” Mr. Topliffe said with a sad smile. “She had a talent with words, she did. Forgive me, but I am surprised Mrs. Burntwood told you about her. My sister obviously wrote under a nom de plume.”

  “My friend and I have been making inquiries throughout England for information about your sister,” David explained.

  “Whatever for?” he said in surprise.

  “My particular friend is most anxious to know Miss Eurydice Emerson’s fate,” David said.

  Mr. Topliffe looked perplexed at first, then said, “Ah, the main character in She Knew She Was Right.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I am afraid my sister did not live long enough to finish Miss Emerson’s story,” Mr. Topliffe said.

  “Did she leave any indication or notes in her final papers?” David pressed.

  “I am embarrassed to say I have not yet gone through my sister’s papers that Mrs. Burntwood sent,” Mr. Topliffe explained. “The grief is still too near.”

  “Of course,” David said. “Thank you again for coming so quickly and filling in.”

  Mr. Topliffe nodded and stepped into the carriage. As he shut the carriage door, he said, “Should your particular friend wish to call upon me, I would be happy to receive them. Perhaps it is time to see my sister’s final words. A very good day to you, Mr. Randall.”

  “And to you, Mr. Topliffe.”

  Twenty-One

  “LADY PERSEPHONE ADLINGTON,” LUCINDA SAID, waving her arms grandly in an exaggerated bow.

  Persephone gave her a quick embrace. “You are the first to call me by my new title.”

  “And how does the name sound to you, Lady Persephone?”

  “I love it!” Persephone exclaimed.

  Lucinda laughed. Antigone unpinned Persephone’s veil and unhooked the long lace train from her white wedding gown. Persephone twirled in the mirror, raising her skirt just enough for Lucinda to see her crinoline cage. Lucinda laughed again and thought her friend glowed with happiness. Antigone laughed too.

  “I proclaim you ready to dance,” Lucinda said.

  Persephone linked arms with both Lucinda and Antigone, and they walked to the great medieval hall. The large room with an enormously high ceiling was full of fashionably dressed people. A quartet of string players played a lively country dance. Couples formed in the center of the room to create the set of dancers. Lord Adlington claimed Persephone’s hand. Antigone left to speak to her parents, and Lucinda stood alone on the side of the room.

  Lucinda looked around to see if she had any acquaintances in the party when she saw Mrs. Randall and Lady Mary Adlington walking arm in arm toward her. Mrs. Randall smiled at Lucinda, but it looked more wistful than happy. The dowager countess only gave her a small nod. Lucinda bowed to the older women.

  “How do you do,
Miss Leavitt?” Mrs. Randall asked.

  “Much better. Thank you, Mrs. Randall,” Lucinda said. “Congratulations, Lady Mary, on your son’s marriage.”

  Lady Mary gave her another curt nod and walked away, releasing her hold on Mrs. Randall’s arm.

  “I suppose I shall have to beg for your arm,” Mrs. Randall said. “Shall we take a turn around the room?”

  Lucinda allowed Mrs. Randall to place her hand inside Lucinda’s elbow and led her to the edge of the great hall. Lucinda did not know what to say or what not to say. She did not know to what level David’s mother was in his confidence. Mrs. Randall did not speak either, but nodded genially to her acquaintances and continued her circle of the room.

  They had nearly completed an entire turn when at last Mrs. Randall said, “You remind me of your mother. She was also very beautiful. Irish, but beautiful.”

  “I did not know you were at all acquainted with my mother.”

  “I am afraid I only met her once,” Mrs. Randall said. “I was not as attentive as I ought to have been.”

  Lucinda said nothing.

  “Nor have I given you the attention you deserve, Miss Leavitt,” Mrs. Randall said. “I cannot go back and behave better, but I do hope you will allow me, in future, to be your friend.”

  Lucinda gulped. Mrs. Randall had snubbed her mother for her nationality and her working-class background. And instead of telling a motherless Lucinda about her menses and burgeoning womanhood, she had told her father to send her to finishing school. And after Lucinda returned from school, Mrs. Randall hadn’t ever called. She’d only left her card.

  Yet here Mrs. Randall was, offering her friendship. Part of Lucinda wished to scorn it. For her mother’s sake. For her own. But Mrs. Randall was David’s mother, and she knew all about Lucinda’s humble origins. And yet she was clearly trying to extend the olive branch.

  “Please, call me Lucinda,” she said at last. “My friends call me Lucinda.”

  “Lucinda is a very pretty name,” Mrs. Randall said.

  “It means light,” Lucinda said, not knowing what else to say.

  “How appropriate,” Mrs. Randall said.

  “What is?”