ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sleep softened sheets and the whispery crackle of a warming fire were the first things that Maurette sensed upon awakening. She snuggled into the thick depths of her bed and slowly opened her eyes. The diaphanous inner hangings that surrounded her great four-poster fell in semitransparent folds like a cocoon, protecting her from the outside world. The chamber where she slept was quiet except for the fire, which she could make out in bright relief outside the shadowy drapes. Maurette closed her sleepy eyes and burrowed into her feather coverlet. As her breathing evened and sleep once more overtook her, something - some indefinable discomfort - niggled at her consciousness. Maurette could not remember what she felt she ought to remember.

Suddenly, her eyes popped open, and she sat straight up. Holding her cover close to her breast, she remembered what it was. Warbrooke! She winced ruefully at the thought of her mother's sad eyes as she and Edyth had tucked her into bed. Softly, in the early morning, their voices came to her as she had wandered in and out of sleep. Maurette remembered Edyth murmuring something about men being barbarians and what did it matter in the end.

Maurette recalled her mother shushing the older woman and crying faintly. Somehow, through all of this, Maurette had drifted off to sleep.

And now, she stirred in her sleep and saw herself scramble from the bed and snatch at the filmy curtains. Overwhelmed, she looked wildly around her cavernous dark chamber. No one was about. Had the villainous Warbrooke overtaken and killed the entire household? Maurette ran to her door and dragged it opened. Popping her head out into the hallway, she looked from side to side, praying that someone would appear to assure her that the notorious Silver Raven had not murdered everyone.

Suddenly, his dark countenance appeared in a misty apparition before her. His sword arm was raised, and his strong white teeth glinted in a demonic smile. His silver eyes shot steely sparks, and his silver-raven hair seemed made of a white hot fire. Maurette heaved the great door shut on the hellish vision and flew back to her bed where she leaped between the jumbled covers and huddled and trembled and awaited the horrible fate intended, by the demoniac Warbrooke, for her alone.

The hangings swished softly as her chamber door was pushed open. In her half-sleep, Maurette held her breath. Someone, a shadowy figure, emerged in the dim firelight. The silhouette moved inexorably nearer and grew in proportion to Maurette's terror. It reached out an arm to part the hangings. Maurette screamed and flung herself deeper into her covers.

"Dear child," said a delicate, musical voice. Lady Violet peeked through the folds of draperies. "Are you having an unpleasant dream, dearest?"

"0h, Grandmama," Maurette breathed as she struggled from the enveloping bedcovers and scrambled into the beloved arms. "At least he did not kill you," she cried, unable to stop her tears of relief.

Lady Violet held her trembling grandchild for some moments, then pulled away from her to look into the shimmering wide eyes. "Who is this hound of hell from whom you cower in your bed?" she said with a flicker of amusement. When Maurette did not answer but instead hiccuped and swiped at her teary cheeks with the hem of her nightdress, Lady Violet gently pushed her back down onto the soft bed and went to the window to open the great hangings. "'Tis a magnificent day, Maurette," she said as a blinding flare of dazzling yellow sunlight entered and filled the room. Maurette peeped out and winced against the brilliance of the day.

Lady Violet came and drew her from her bed. "I suppose it is because we have not all been murdered in our sleep," she said matter-of-factly.

Maurette shrugged into her dressing gown and moved to the window, fully baring herself to the morning's glittering, rain-soaked glare.

Why does the world go on as though nothing has happened, she mused. She leaned on the embrasure to obtain a better view of the gardens below. Gloriously green and shimmering from the night's rain and the morning's sunny sparkle, the grounds radiated up at her, and she heard the chittering squirrels and birds and other small animals. Maurette pushed herself away from the exhilarating sights and sounds of spring. At another time, she would have made quick work of her tiresome toilette hopped into a pair of leather breeches, and burst from her chamber to join the frolicsome wildlife in the gardens. She would have had her frisky little mare, Melitte, saddled if she had not, in her enthusiasm, done the job Herself and would have ridden joyously over the grounds of Harper House, down the Strand, and into the streets of London to bedazzle and bemuse the good citizens and the rabble of the city with her high, good spirits.

Today, however, was very different from other days. Maurette's natural and irrepressible ebullience had been stilled by the terrible events of the night before. On the occasion of her eighteenth birthday, she had discovered, to her everlasting amazement, what it was to be an adult person, to be finally and absolutely responsible for her own actions. 'Twas a valuable lesson, to be sure, Maurette acknowledged. But that it should have come to her so abruptly, so cruelly, so unceremoniously through the odious channel that was Dominic Warbrooke infuriated her beyond words.

She would never forgive the man for being the instrument of her enlightenment. The way in which he had perpetrated the infusion of knowledge was not forgivable. Though this rite of passage was unavoidable, surely a carefully bred girl deserved a gentler coming of age. However the thing had been done, and Maurette's perceptions had been forever changed. It was not for nothing that her learning had been acquired. She would use it, this new knowledge, against its omnipotent executor. Warbrooke no longer faced a reckless young girl. His adversary has become a woman. Maurette had to know, however, the territory on which she battled.

Abruptly and with a keen resolve, she faced Edyth and Lady Violet. "Have either Of you heard anything?"

"About what?" her grandmother inquired innocently She was busy at Maurette's dressing table, testing the rare creams that lay in pots on its marble surface rejecting some and, with delicate shrugs, considering others. "What would be best for this day, child?" she asked casually. "I think a heather scent, do you not agree?" She held out a pot for her granddaughter's inspection.

Maurette eyed the older woman suspiciously. "You know something, Grandmama," she stated.

Lowering the pot of cream, Lady Violet regarded her granddaughter reflectively. "I know that your papa has been with Lord Warbroooke through the early morning. The subject of their interview is not known to me."

Maurette chewed her lower lip. She targeted Edyth, and that woman turned nervously and, parting the areas that separated the privy chamber from the rest of the room, she began intense preparations for Maurette'd morning toilette. "How am I to know anything, tittle Lady Maurette? I am, after all, only a servant."

Maurette arched an eyebrow. "When such a lowly status suits your purpose, I perceive," she said dryly. Maurette paused, giving weight to her next words. "I wish you both to know that I shall not accept tamely what the men have decided. I wish you to be aware, in advance, that I am no sucking dove or bitch hound humbly licking the hand that strikes her. I am a woman born this day. I shall make my own decisions regarding my fate. Warbrooke may have his prize," she said, turning back to the sunlit day, "but that prize will, perforce, be dressed in borrowed plumes."

Edyth shuddered at the stiffened spine of her little charge.

Lady Violet hid a smile and turned back to her perusal of the scented creams. Dominic Warbrooke, lord and favored knight, was, she perceived, in for a harrowing crusade. Still smiling inwardly, she shrugged delicately and became even more intently concerned with the scents. "'Twas, in truth, what a man of Warbrooke's prideful temperament deserved. Jason Gordon, too, had required more than a small amount of resistance to learn that his bullying pride and powerful obstinacy would avail him nothing in the face of an equally obstinate woman. But when it was over and the smoke of battle had cleared, the laurels of triumphant love and unyielding devotion would fall extravagantly about the shoulders of the warriors. Their triumph would be the sweeter for the violence of the struggle. Lady Violet knew this to be true, and she exulted privately now in that awareness. She regarded her granddaughter levelly.

"Edyth and I accept your resolve, dear Maurette," she said softly. "But we wish you to know that we would not see you harmed for your resistance. We hope that you will exercise all caution in dealing with so potent a force as Dominic Warbrooke." She turned tranquilly toward the tiring woman.

"Forgive me for speaking for you, my friend, but I assumed that your feelings would be the same as my own, on this subject at the least." The old servant nodded solemnly.

"You see, child," Lady Violet continued, "we, Edyth and I, have both known powerful and stubborn men. 'Twould seem," she sighed, "they just happen to be the most interesting-at least for the likes of women such as we-and we fully appreciate your circumstance." Her voice and manner now became thoughtful.

"We were young ourselves and intent upon challenging the status quo. And, I believe," she added, casting an amused wink at Edyth, "that, given the opportunity, we would not, even today, shy away from such a challenge. We must add our warning, however," she stated seriously. "'Tis not an easy challenge-not easily fought and not easily won. We cannot aid you against this force of men with anything but our faith in you. That you have in full measure." 'The forceful words, delivered forcefully to Maurette's proud back, made her turn.

She saw in her grandmother's eyes all the love, support, and respect that she had always perceived from her earliest childhood but had never fully appreciated until this moment. Edyth moved to the side of her titled friend.

"We are here, child, to serve your purpose in whatever way we are able," said the plump tiring woman. Shoulder to shoulder, the two elderly women made an unyielding picture of comforting worldly wisdom to Maurette. Her eyes softened with thanks and deepest gratitude.

"You are my grandmother and my tiring woman," she said softly, "and you are my sisters."

The room was filled with the tenderness felt by the three women. Their unity was a palpable force. Lady Violet moved to Maurette. She touched the younger woman's cheek with her small bejeweled fingers. Then, the Countess turned away.

"When I told you before that I did not know the subject of your father's interview with Lord Warbrooke, I was not dissembling. I did not tell you all, however" she said simply. Lifting her chin, she added quietly, "I visited that council early and made a suggestion." She turned to her granddaughter. "I shall not tell you what the suggestion was, but I ask you to prepare yourself for what may, at first, seem a cruel turn."

Maurette's eyes widened. "Have you savaged me, Grandmama, before I enter the field?"

"No, child," said Lady Violet. "Can you not, after all that has transpired in this chamber, trust me?"

The tenderness was still there, the love and comforting support still felt between the women. Maurette knew that any action taken by her grandmother must produce good. And, if that did not turn out to be the case, the purity of Lady Violet's intent would with certainty redeem a negative outcome.

"I trust you, Grandmama," said Maurette evenly. "I shall prepare myself for whatever comes. I shall be ready for the conjurings the men have composed for me."

"That is good," Lady Violet said, gazing with pride into her granddaughter's eyes. "We must begin," she added with a small smile, "at least a part of our offensive. The accouterment of beauty is ever an asset in the exhilarating contest you will face this day." She took Maurette's arm and, with a decisive nod to her confrere, began the task at hand. "As I said before, the heather is called for, in the bath, on the skin, through the hair. Do you not agree, Edyth?"

Edyth nodded as she prepared Maurette for her morning's ablutions. Lady Violet proceeded to choose the perfect gown. All three women were busily engaged when a newly awakened and frazzled Imogene came bursting into the room.

"Oh, Maurette," she breathed and began immediately to sob and sniffle. "What shall we do? Oh, whatever shall we do?"

Maurette lifted herself from her bath. And, as Edyth toweled her dry, she tried to console her little sister with comforting words. "We shall do, sweet Imogene, what needs doing." When the toweling was done and Maurette was wrapped in a thick dressing gown, she moved to the flustered Imogene who was now lying upon the unmade bed and sobbing harder than before. "We shall discover what the men have decided," Maurette murmured softly, "and then we shall make our own decisions."

Imogene looked up through tear-clouded lashes. "Our decisions," she said wildly. "We have no decisions. The men are, even now…"

"Shhh," Maurette intoned. "'Twill come to naught, this crying."

"He is so comely, darling Maurette," Imogene blubbered. "How were any of us to realize what roguish intent was hidden within? I hate him," she wailed, smacking the bed with her small, pale hand. Her disheveled, blond curls bounced agitatedly with the action. "I shall kill him for you," she stated suddenly, pushing herself to her knees among the tangled covers.

"Listen to me," Maurette said sternly, taking hold of her sister's shoulders. "Stop and listen."

The sharpness in Maurette's tone stilled the other's noisy sobs. Imogene regarded her sister with awe. Her blue eyes were wide and glistening. Maurette wiped at the girl's tear-stained cheeks. Her manner softened.

"You must not hate, darling sister. I would not have you feel that terrible emotion for a rash act of mine. You are yet a child, Imogene. Savor that sweet circumstance for as long as you are able. "'Twas me and me alone that caused the disaster. Do you not understand that? Me, Imogene... I was reckless and unthinking. A woman is responsible for her own actions. I will have no other feel responsibility." At that, Maurette pulled her sister into a fierce embrace. "All I ask of you, sweet, dear, loved Imogene, is that you accept and respect any conduct of mine in regard to this present predicament." She held the girl away from her. "Can you make such a vow?"

Imogene sniffed loudly. She did not understand what her sister felt her "conduct" might effect. There was, after all, nothing any of them could do after Maurette's fate had been decided by the men. And, she wondered, why could she not hate the man who had caused it all? But then Maurette had just said that he had not caused their present troubles. Imogene turned these things over in her innocent mind, her smooth brow wrinkling in perplexity. She looked up to find Edyth and Lady Elaine regarding her with a gentle solemnity. Looking back to her sister, the girl drew a deep breath.

"I do not really mark your reasoning, dear Maurette," she said softly, "but I divine that you wish me to somehow lend succor to some action that you will soon take. I cannot vow such a thing, as I know not what you intend. I can vow" she said with childlike honesty, "that I love you more than I have ever told you."

Maurette smiled a small smile. "That is all that I could ever want of you, sweet girl."

The two embraced. Maurette led Imogene gently from the room and admonished her to dress and to soak her puffed eyes with cold cloths. When Imogene was gone, the three women continued the business that they had begun before the girl's entrance.

Artfully coiffed and dressed in a morning gown of palest lavender brocade with a high standing collar of ivory-colored lace, Maurette made her way down the stone staircase and into the family dining room. She paused in the gallery at the entrance of the chamber and noted that her mother, looking tired and faded, was already seated and sipping at a cup of steaming tea. Maurette took a long, quiet breath, then, lowering her gaze, she entered the room and slid into her place at the table.

Maurette had no idea what aspect to assume in the strained silence between them. She wanted very much to apologize but recognized that a word from her could let loose a stream of recriminations from the older woman. That she could not face at this moment. Even though Maurette felt strong and calm, she knew that her reserve might crumble at any time. It was, after all, newly acquired, and she had not had an opportunity to test it. She well knew that uncertainty and the vulnerability of the child she had been these past eighteen years lurked just beneath the surface of her firm resolve.

Maurette reached for a scone.

"He has been closeted with your father for hours now." Lady Elaine's voice was almost inaudible.

Maurette raised her eyes to her mother's strained face, then turned to look in the direction of a small arched doorway. Beyond it lay her father's study. She squinted into the dim hallway and inclined her head slightly.

"Your father is attempting to put an honorable face upon this scurrilous business," the older woman said. She set down her cup with a delicately sharp clink.

Maurette felt a sudden and acute contrition. For all her grown-up determination, self-mastery, and readiness to cross mental swords with male domination, she knew the truth. She had brought shame and scandal upon her beloved family with her rebellious ways. She had indulged in folly, and now her dear father was battling for her honor and the restoration of her family's honor. And he was doing combat with the ferocious Silver Raven. How could her 'pursuit of honor' have yielded such infamy? Would her pursuit of self-respect yield further infamy? She was, after all, only a woman. Her fragile self-possession was slowly cracking. Tears welled in her eyes. Raising a tear-clouded gaze to her mother, Maurette pleaded for some sort of comfort.

The woman immediately looked away, but not before she had seen - and felt - the desperate guilt in her daughter's eyes. "You did what you believed was right, Maurette," Elaine Harper said tiredly. She stared at nothing in particular as she tried to think of words to say that might console the child and yet express the mother's disapproval. Finally, she sighed audibly. In her own mind, she could not defend her daughter's rashness, and yet she could not fully reprove her actions. Elaine recognized that much of Maurette's recent troubles were the result of the encouragement, in her youth, of the child's irrepressible willfulness. She felt at once confused and angry and sympathetic.

"Something will be done," she said vaguely. "Your father always thinks of something."

Maurette swiped at her teary cheeks. She wished bitterly that she could think of something, but she knew that, at the moment, her only recourse was to await the decision of the men. She must bide, for the present, with her terrible hurting guilt and her sullen mother. Maurette's eyes kept returning to that dim gallery where her father and Lord Warbrooke would appear at any time with the news on which hung her fate. The minutes ebbed heavily away. Maurette imagined herself astride a giant tortoise, shambling sluggishly over an apathetic expanse of emptiness. Unable to set her own course, she languorously abided the slow march of the drawling beast. Succumbing to that vast spectral listlessness, Maurette was suddenly jolted by the appearance of the two men in the dining chamber.

In her confusion, Maurette knocked over the delicate porcelain cup from which she had been sipping tea. The thing shattered, sending thin shards everywhere. Maurette stood to wipe the debris from her gown.. looking up quickly, she realized that Dominic was regarding her dismay with something akin to amusement. Oh, how she hated this arrogant swaggerer. For the moment, at least, her determination returned in full force.

Composing herself, Maurette lifted her chin. "May I know what has been decided?" she said coolly.

Alex nodded slightly and moved to his daughter. He stood before her for many moments before speaking. Maurette noted the stubble of beard on his tired face. Twinges of guilt once more assailed her as she realized that Alex had the air of a man defeated.

"As you know, my precious daughter, a promise extracted upon the field of honor is immutable," he began softly. "Lord Warbrooke has every right to-and every intention of-seizing the full measure of your bargain." At this last, he cast a scornful glance at Dominic. Then he turned back to face Maurette. Brushing her silken cheek with his fingers, Alex perceived that the brutal words that he was about to say were best said quickly. He dropped his hand to his side but kept his daughter fixed in a relentless gaze.

In her confusion, Maurette knocked over the delicate porcelain cup from which she had been sipping tea. The thing shattered, sending thin shards everywhere. Maurette stood to wipe the debris from her gown.. looking up quickly, she realized that Dominic was regarding her dismay with something akin to amusement. Oh, how she hated this arrogant swaggerer. For the moment, at least, her determination returned in full force.

Composing herself, Maurette lifted her chin. "May I know what has been decided?" she said coolly.

Alex nodded slightly and moved to his daughter. He stood before her for many moments before speaking. Maurette noted the stubble of beard on his tired face. Twinges of guilt once more assailed her as she realized that Alex had the air of a man defeated.

"As you know, my precious daughter, a promise extracted upon the field of honor is immutable," he began softly. "Lord Warbrooke has every right to-and every intention of-seizing the full measure of your bargain." At this last, he cast a scornful glance at Dominic. Then he turned back to face Maurette. Brushing her silken cheek with his fingers, Alex perceived that the brutal words that he was about to say were best said quickly. He dropped his hand to his side but kept his daughter fixed in a relentless gaze.

"Lord Warbrooke has agreed to a nominal negotiation. He has aged to the signing of the pre-contract. That is to say, that a bond of marriage will be entered with the London registry and if, at the end of the stated year, no marriage has taken place, the bond is forfeit. If, however, a marriage does take place; the necessity of banns and other formalities need not transpire.

"English church law takes this bond very seriously," Alex continued, lifting himself to his full height to face Dominic Warbrooke. "A pre-contract is nearly as binding as the marriage ceremony itself," he said evenly. "If Lord Warbrooke forms any other liaison during the period of its term, that union could be declared void by the Ecclesiastical Court, and Lord Warbrooke could be excommunicated from the Church of England."

The two men were facing each other, and the full measure of their early morning's conflict showed on their unshaven, resolute faces. They resembled two embattled gladiators, nerves tautened and ready to battle again at the slightest provocation.

Dominic regarded the father of the delicate virginal Maurette without sympathy, but with a mixture of understanding and admiration clear in his silver eyes. He stepped only slightly back from the potential confrontation and nodded his head in a show of terse respect.

"I understand clearly the terms of the contract, my lord. 'Tis my intention to keep it with diligence and reverence."

Alex turned back to his daughter. "I will explain all to you, child. In the meantime, know that the scandal we had all envisioned is lessened by the man's compliance. For that, at least, we must thank him."

Maurette dared a glance in Dominic's direction but lowered it instantly when she saw again the devilish twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Anger burned within her, but she forced it down. "Naturally, we do thank him," she said flatly.

Looking to his wife, Alex said, "'Twas all that I could do. I could not allow him to cart her off willy-nilly like so much baggage on a progress."

Elaine nodded and, with her eyes, silently forgave him. Her small smile approved his arduous efforts in their daughter's behalf. At the least, the promise of a marriage existed. Pre-contracts often resulted in legal ceremonies. She swept a prim glance toward the duke of Ravenshead. Eyeing his tall form from beneath her lashes, she acknowledged that the nobleman was, indeed, a prize.

Elaine twisted away from her perusal of Dominic and regarded Maurette. She wondered if her daughter, standing pale and silent at the news, realized her good fortune.

"Though my daughter's thanks is somewhat lacking in sincerity," Lady Elaine said evenly, "I wish you to know, Lord Warbrooke, that mine is not." She looked once more into the clear silver gaze. "You have done a generous thing, considering the manner in which you have been provoked."

Maurette cast an angry glance toward her mother. "YOU misjudge me cruelly, Mama." She targeted Dominic with a stony glare. "I do sincerely thank His Lordship for rescuing me from an ignoble existence as his doxy." Her anger no longer repressed, Maurette spat the words out.

Alex Harper tensed. Elaine's lips formed a silent 0 of astonishment. Maurette stood rigidly, girded for the outcome of her wrath.

Only Dominic Warbrooke remained unperturbed. He leaned back, lounging against the stone archway, his arms folded over his chest. "You are more than welcome, my lady," he drawled. "'Twas not an alternative, I must confess, that had occurred to me. Your father's cleverness in discourse is, in truth, your rescuer. Let me add one word," he said, shrugging away from the wall and moving to Maurette. Standing over her, he held her in a hard gaze. "The terms of our agreement have not changed. Call yourself doxy or wife, for this next year, you belong to me." A cold smile crossed his lips but did not temper the granite hardness of his yes. "Your honor lady, is in your own hands."

Maurette shrank inwardly from the steely, masculine aggression in his tone. Her huge, lashed eyes became limpid with the sudden terror that closed itself around her heart. She felt the color drain from her face and gulped in calming breaths to ward off the dizzy fear that seemed to melt her bones. "'Twould seem," she said faintly, that you threaten me with my own sense of honor, sir. 'Tis not fair play to do that."

Looming above and very near to her, Dominic raised an eyebrow. His strong white teeth glinted in a wider grin. "'Tis not fair play, you say? What of the well-bred, spoiled, and willful wench who decks her pretty little form in breeches, who teases a man to madness, who excites him to lunacy with her fiery temperament and then-nay, demands that her beauty and innocence save her from the consequences of her recklessness?" His hard smile was gone, and his voice had become a low growl. "Would you tell me that wench is exercising fair play? When you can take as much as you give, lady, then speak to me of fair play."

Maurette tore herself from the hypnotic violence in his gaze. As on the field of honor, she knew the horrible realization that he could and, no doubt would, render her helpless to his will. A sickening dread filled her. She must protect herself. Raising her eyes once more to his, Maurette faced her adversary with the full force of that knowledge and with a determination that she would protect herself at all cost.

"That wench is no longer," she said fiercely. "she does not exist."

Dominic's smile slowly returned as he regarded the forceful little creature beneath his gaze. She was, in truth, a most remarkable chit. "We shall see," he said, then added, his manner lightening, "in the meanwhile, I am in need, after the morning's labors, of some diversion." He rubbed his hands together in apparent, good-natured anticipation. "And I must needs companionship." He made a gallant bow to Maurette. "You will, I presume, join me in a morning ride, my lady. I've a desire to tour the city. In Her Majesty's service, I rarely am able to go out and about." His tone was conversational, courtly even, but brooked no dissent. "Although the tragedy of the burning of St. Paul's destroyed the steeple, I should enjoy seeing the view of our fair London that we have gained at the cathedral's loss. May I take it that you will accompany me?"

Again, the words, though light-hearted and delivered as a request, belied the underlying command that Maurette perceived. Without awaiting an answer, Dominic moved to Lady Elaine and swept her hand to his lips "Please excuse me, my lady," he said, looking down into her green eyes.

Elaine could not hide the look of astonishment that crossed her face at his gesture. More importantly, she could not hide the feeling of warmth that suffused her as his lips brushed her hand. She did not speak but merely nodded in mute awe at his sudden gallantry. Then Dominic turned to Alex and nodded crisply. "Thank you, sir, for opening my eyes to the more satisfactory arrangement you have negotiated for your daughter and me." He eyed Maurette with a glimmer of amusement before continuing. "I can see that all concerned are much more content with this adjustment." Turning back to face his affianced,, he said, "I shall see to the horses. We shall meet in the courtyard within the hour, dear, dear Lady Maurette." And then he was gone.

Maurette stared after him for a long moment. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. Perhaps she had driven him to lunacy The insufferable brute was one moment threatening her, the next conversing with her and her family as though they were idling in a noble salon, and then finally and infuriatingly flinging orders at her. She looked to her parents and recognized her own bemusement in their reactions to what had just transpired. She noted, with disgust, the softness about her mother's eyes as she gazed fondly down upon the hand that Dominic had kissed.

"Methinks," Maurette said dryly, "that you signed over the wrong female, Papa."

Elaine looked up at her daughter. "I think," she murmured softly, "that you had better ready yourself for your ride."

Maurette eyed her mother and bit back a response. Lifting her skirts, she flicked them curtly and left the room.

There was a long silence between husband and wife when they were alone. Finally, Elaine looked up. "I like him," she said without preamble. Her husband cocked a glance in her direction. "I do," said the lady lifting her chin.

Alex sat down heavily. "So do I," he stated flatly.

Elaine laughed softly and covered her husband's hand with he own.. "Oh, Alex," she said fondly. "I know 'tis hard for you to admit." She lifted his chin with her other hand so that she was looking directly into his baleful gaze. "If ever you give up anything that is yours without a brawl, I shall have you placed upon the steps of St. Paul's with a pewter cup, for you shall be of little use to me." Her green eyes sparkled merrily. "You have done well, mighty warrior. They will find each other, I know it."

Alex found that, unbidden, a small smile was forming on his lips. In the face of his wife's sweet optimism, he could not hide his own.