Chapter 16

Jeb was surprised how quickly Mariah healed. When news of her father’s death arrived, the doctor insisted she stay in bed at least a week. But when her week was up, she demanded Jeb allow her out of her bed. He carried her down the stairs, and they sat together in his mother’s music room.

Their eyes met, communicating their need to touch one another, but Mariah simply fingered the elegant brocade that wrapped the arms of her comfortable chair. Jeb’s fingers noodled across the strings of his mother’s small harp. No particular melody evolved, but the tones emanating from the filigreed instrument connected them in a most enchanting way as it soothed and quieted their need.

His mother had returned from Jeb’s sister’s a few days after the threat from Mariah’s father was resolved. She insisted Mariah needed a proper chaperone or there would be a scandal. Jeb didn’t tell her that if Society ever discovered that he and Mariah had spent nearly a week on the road together without a chaperone, he would be getting a special license, and she would be hosting a wedding breakfast tomorrow.

“Are you tired?” Jeb asked Mariah when she’d been out of bed for longer than he thought she should.

“No, not at all. It’s too perfect a day to spend it in bed.”

Jeb looked out the window to see the sun shining brightly.

“She’s right,” Jeb’s father said. He was standing at the window smiling like a cat basking in the sun’s rays.

“Would you care for tea?” Lady Stafford asked. She’d fussed over Mariah in the kindest way since she’d come home.

“That would be lovely,” Mariah said.

“Jeb, would you tell Franklin we’d like tea?”

Jeb rose to tell the butler to have Cook prepare a tray, but his father’s voice stopped him before he reached the door.

“You might want to tell Cook to prepare two trays. We have guests.”

“Who, George?”

“Come see,” Jeb’s father said.

Lady Stafford walked to the window to join her husband. “Oh my,” she said. “Oh! Oh my!” she said louder. “Oh, George! It’s the . . . the . . .”

Jeb walked to the window to see what had excited his mother so. “Yes, Mother. It’s the Queen.”

Jeb’s mother clasped her hand to her breast and looked up at him. “It’s the . . . Queen! The Queen, George! The Queen is here!”

“Yes, dear. I believe the Queen has come to see our son and Lady Mariah.”

Before Lady Stafford could recover, there was a commotion at the front of the house, then Franklin rapped on the door. He drew himself up to a regal pose, chin high, and spoke in an unfamiliar stentorian tone.

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Victoria.”

The Queen entered the room as if it were an everyday occurrence for her to call on people in their homes instead of them coming to see her.

“Lord and Lady Stafford. Mr. Danvers. Lady Mariah,” the Queen greeted.

“Your Majesty,” Jeb and his parents greeted. Jeb and his father bowed while his mother curtsied as gracefully as she no doubt had when she was twenty. When Jeb straightened, he turned to help Mariah to her feet. He knew how difficult it was for her to stand on her own.

“Stay seated, young lady,” the Queen said with a wave of her beautifully ringed fingers.

“Your Majesty,” Mariah greeted, bowing her head.

Lady Stafford indicated a chair that Franklin had brought forward. “Please, Your Majesty, make yourself comfortable while I ring for tea.”

“Thank you, Lady Stafford. That would be delightful.”

The Queen of England held court in his mother’s music room, and Jeb knew this was something his mother would speak of for years. The fact that Her Majesty had come to call on her would be the talk of the ton, to say nothing of putting his mother’s name at the top of every social list for every event for the remainder of the Season. And the ornate brocade chair with the petit point seat? It would be retired to a place of honor for all to see but never to be sat upon again.

Her Majesty turned to Mariah. “England owes you a great debt, dear girl. You prevented a regrettable situation and lost your father in the process. Wrapped in sorrow as it was, your courageous act was most remarkable.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Mariah whispered.

“You are the granddaughter of the late Earl of Cantington, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. My mother was Lord Cantington’s eldest daughter, Lady Constance. She met my father while he was here in London. They married and made their home in Scotland.”

“Can you explain why your father was so desperate to incite a war with England?”

Mariah shook her head. “My father loved my mother very much. Perhaps too much. As you know, there was a scandal surrounding their marriage, which led to their elopement to Scotland. He always harbored bitter resentment toward London Society for what he considered their harsh treatment of my mother. But Mother never lost her love for England, and that infuriated him, and he never returned. Mother returned only once, at the death of her father.”

“Did you accompany her?”

“Yes. It was during that trip that I discovered how deeply she loved England and how much she missed her home. Unfortunately, she died a short while later and was never able to return.”

“And your father?”

Mariah lowered her gaze. “He . . . changed when she died. He was lost, angry, ripe to be drawn into a plot neighboring clans were fomenting. It offered him a way to make England pay for what he considered slights against his wife. I sent the jewel when I discovered there would be bloodshed. I couldn’t allow him to do something so reckless. Not in my mother’s name.”

“Do you realize how brave you were?”

Mariah lowered her head. “It’s what my mother would have done if she were still here. She loved England. She would never have wanted to see Father take such action against her country.”

“Then England thanks you.”

“The man who intended to wage war against England wasn’t the same man my mother married.”

There was a strange expression on the Queen’s face when she looked at Mariah. “Death affects all of us in ways we don’t anticipate.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It surely does.”

The door opened, and two maids followed Franklin into the room. One carried a tea tray, and the other a tray arranged prettily with sumptuous pastries. After Lady Stafford poured tea for the Queen, she served the rest of her family.

Her Majesty charmed the little group with her ability to draw them into comfortable conversation. Her bright and unexpected chuckles had them all smiling and almost at ease, if one could be at ease in the presence of the Queen of England. The moment Queen Victoria set her teacup on the tray table, they knew the casual chatter had drawn to an end. The regal woman turned her attention to Jeb.

“You have again come to England’s aid,” she said, placing her cup and saucer on the table beside her. “I have not forgotten what you were offered when you agreed to this assignment. I shall arrange for transport of the Arabian as soon as you inform Lord Melbourne where you wish to have him sent. Oh, and there seems to be a pretty little filly who insists upon traveling with him. That should give you a good start to the breeding farm you intend to establish.”

“Your Majesty, I am forever in your debt.” Jeb lowered to one knee as he took the Queen’s offered hand and brought it to his lips.

When he rose, the Queen kept hold of his hand, and Jeb assisted her to her feet. She looked up. Then up farther. “Goodness, I’m always surprised how very tall you are. And handsome.”

“Your Majesty is too kind.”

Mariah watched a trail of red rise on the back of Jeb’s neck. He was the most self-assured fellow she’d known in her life, but the Queen had managed to make him blush. The revelation of it made her smile.

“Do you have a wife?” she asked as Jeb escorted her to the door.

“No, Your Majesty.” He smiled, and the blush reached his cheeks.

“Then may I suggest you consider the lovely young lady who saved England from a war with Scotland? From the way she looks at you, she would accept your offer were you inclined to make one.”

Jeb looked over his shoulder to where Mariah sat with cheeks as rosy as the back of his neck. “Well, Your Majesty. If you insist,” Jeb said. He gave the Queen a scandalous wink that made her beam, then turned his glorious smile on Mariah.

“Oh I do, young man,” the Queen laughed. “For the country, you know.” Her exaggerated wink had them all laughing.

“And be sure to invite me to the wedding. That should quell any gossip surrounding your unchaperoned trip from Scotland to England.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Jeb choked. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Lord and Lady Stafford trailed Jeb as he escorted Her Majesty to the door. A royal footman took her arm from Jeb and accompanied Her Majesty to her carriage.

The moment he’d handed Her Royal Highness over to her footman, Jeb strode to Mariah and swept her up out of her chair and into his arms. He hurried with her to the door, unwilling to allow her to miss the pageantry that was unfolding in the wake of the Queen of England.

Lady Stafford stood in the open doorway until the Queen’s carriage was out of sight. Jeb looked at his father, and they both laughed. They knew Lady Stafford intended to stay in sight as long as necessary to ensure that everyone who passed by their townhouse would recognize her and realize that she’d entertained the Queen!

“Well,” Lady Stafford said later as she patted Mariah’s hand and swept back into the house. “Did you hear Her Majesty? We’d best begin to plan your wedding.”

“Mother,” Jeb said, interrupting her before she got too far ahead of herself. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to start planning our wedding? I haven’t even asked Mariah if she’ll marry me.” He shifted Mariah’s weight to nestle her even closer to his chest and gave her an innocent blink when she swatted his shoulder.

“Of course she’ll marry you. The Queen almost issued a royal decree. Besides, the girl loves you. Any fool can see that.”

Jeb’s father stepped in to save them. “My lady,” he said to his wife. “Why don’t you put on your best bonnet, and we’ll go for a ride through Hyde Park. Perhaps we might see one or two dozen of your friends who have heard about our visit from the Queen and want to discuss the event with you.”

“What an excellent idea,” Lady Stafford said. “I won’t be but a moment.”

Jeb’s mother’s face lit up like a child on the eve of her birthday as she rushed across the room. She stopped before she reached the door and turned. “And when we return, perhaps we’ll have some news to celebrate,” she said, looking pointedly at Jeb.

“Perhaps, Mother. Now, you’d best hurry, or you and Father will miss the five o’clock crush through Hyde Park.”

“Yes,” she said, rushing from the room.

Jeb’s father followed with a grin on his face. “You do know your mother, son,” he said at the door.

“Yes, Father.”

“She won’t give up.”

“I know, Father.”

With a wink and a nod, Jeb’s father left the room.

Jeb bent his face to touch Mariah’s forehead with his own.

Had they even noticed that he still stood scandalously in the center of the room with the woman of his dreams in his arms?