The Makeshift Marriage by Sandra Heath Page B

Nicholas’s signet ring felt ice cold as it was slipped on to her finger.
    The Reverend Smythe closed the prayerbook and Laura bent to kiss Nicholas on the lips. The flowers were bruised against the coverlet and their delicate perfume was released into the still air. “I love you, Nicholas,” she whispered, unable to bear not confessing her feelings to him now, but when she looked she saw that he had slipped into unconsciousness. He had not heard her. She turned sharply to Dr. Meyer and he shook his head.
    “Maybe he will awaken again, Lady Grenville, but I cannot offer you any hope.”
    The flowers slipped from her fingers. She felt drained of all strength, all resistance. She could hear some of the maids in the passageway whispering prayers, and tears blinded her as she went to the balcony where the air was cooler. Nicholas’s room overlooked a small canal at the side of the hotel and she looked down to see one of the distinctive Venetian, red-draped boat-hearses gliding silently toward the steps at the hotel’s other entrance. A coffin covered by a red pall was carefully taken into the hotel —Nicholas’s coffin…. A shudder ran through her, she would not accept the inevitable, she would not!
    Turning back into the room, she looked at Major Bergmann. “Tell them to send the coffin away.”
    “But —”
    “I will not have the coffin here while he lives! I demand that it be removed!” She was trembling defiantly.
    The major inclined his head and left the room.
    She did not know when at last she was alone with Nicholas. She was lost in her thoughts and silent prayers. The chaplain had placed the certificate of marriage on the table next to Augustine Townsend’s portrait, and the document shone very white against the black lacquerwork. Laura stared at the piece of paper that made her Nicholas Grenville’s wife. She loved him so very much —and he would never perhaps know that. He had married her because he pitied her, not for any other reason—his heart was given to Augustine…. An incongruous smile touched Laura’s pale lips. The fortune ticket had been partly right, for she had a rich, albeit encumbered, and titled husband. But there was no great future happiness ahead for Laura, Lady Grenville of King’s Cliff.
     

Chapter 11
     
    The brilliant sunshine that streamed into the room as Henderson drew back the curtains the next morning roused Laura from the exhausted sleep that had at last overtaken her before dawn. She was curled up on the sofa, still wearing her sprigged muslin gown. She had unpinned her hair and brushed it before falling asleep, and now it tumbled down over her shoulders as she sat swiftly up, her first thought of Nicholas.
    “He’s the same, ma’am,” said the valet, seeing the sharp anxiety leap into her eyes.
    Relief flooded through her as she got up and went to the bed. Nicholas awoke as her hand brushed his. “Laura?” His voice was a faint whisper and his eyes were lackluster. But he was alive, he was still with her… .
    “How are you feeling?” she asked.
    “Bang up to the mark.”
    She smiled at the dry humor he still seemed capable of in spite of his condition. “You must drink something.”
    “Cognac?”
    “Water.”
    “Damned washy stuff.”
    Her hands were trembling as she poured some water from the jug by the bedside. Henderson supported Nicholas’s head as she held the glass to his lips. He succeeded in drinking most of it and Henderson laid him gently back.
    Laura glanced at the valet. “Go and find Dr. Meyer.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” She knew that the valet still resented her part in all this, but the hostility was not as keen this morning.
    She looked down at Nicholas again. “Does your head ache?”
    “Abominably.”
    “Maybe the doctor can give you something to help.”
    He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “What a very dull wedding night you’ve had,” he murmured. “My apologies.”
    “There is time enough.”
    He smiled at the brave words, but