Justine Cole - The Copeland Bride

Quinn leaned forward, all trace of indolence gone from his posture. He had to ask his father why he had finally married her at the end when she was dying. But before he could even frame the question, Quinn knew the answer as surely as if he had looked into his own heart. Simon hadn't been able to bear the thought that Amanda would die without ever having been his wife.

The room was quiet as each man occupied himself with his own thoughts. It was Quinn who finally broke the silence. "I hope Christopher's not going to be as hard on me as I've been on you."

"Oh, no you don't, my boy!" Simon exclaimed, somehow afraid of the curious weakness that was coming over him at his son's words. "Don't you start getting soft on me. Your hatred is the one thing I've always been able to count on. Too many changes aren't good for a man of my age."

Quinn laughed. Whether it was from the whiskey or Simon's words, he didn't know, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Finally he sobered, knowing there was something more he must say. "I've been wrong, Simon. It was wrong of me to sit in judgment on you all these years."

Simon felt a deep happiness well up inside him. He took a sip from his drink and cleared his throat. "That ship you're building, son. You've sure got yourself a winner there. How many knots you figure she'll do?"

The conversation moved on to important things.

The next morning Noelle and Constance met in the hallway.

"Do you know where…?"

"Did Quinn…?"

They saw the anxiety in each other's eyes.

"Oh, dear," Constance finally managed, tightening her lacy green wrapper around her waist. "You don't think…?"

Without another word they rushed down the stairs. Noelle's gold silk robe fluttered around her ankles as she flew into the front hallway. Quinn had been in such a dangerous mood last night, there was no accounting for what might have happened.

"Perhaps Dainty has seen them."

They were on their way to the kitchen when Noelle noticed that the door of the drawing room was ajar. She tugged on Constance's arm, and together they went in.

Only the faintest light penetrated the tightly drawn draperies. The air was close, full of old smoke and stale liquor. Empty bottles lay on their sides on the rug. Quinn's boots leaned against a spindled candlestand; Simon's pipe and a collection of cheroot butts overflowed a fluted candy dish. There were glasses on the floor along with two wooden half models and part of a loaf of bread. The occupants of the room, rumpled and unshaven, were sound asleep.

Simon was lying flat on his back on the settee, his legs dangling over one arm, while Quinn was slouched down into an overstuffed chair, his feet propped up on a table, a half-filled bottle tilting precariously in his lap.

"Faith! No wonder they didn't come to bed. They were in their cups."

"In Georgia, we say they were drunk as skunks." Noelle smiled.

"Do you, my dear? How colorful."

Something warm and joyous began to grow inside Noelle as she surveyed the empty glasses and half models and cheroot butts, all the evidence of easy camaraderie. "Oh, Constance, do you think they've finally set things right between them?"

Constance reached for Noelle's hand, her green eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "Appearances can be deceiving, of course, but it looks hopeful, most hopeful indeed." She gave a tiny, embarrassed sniff. "If a trifle vulgar."

A giggle, as light as air, escaped Noelle. "I don't know if we ought to awaken them. This is the first time I've seen them together in the same room without shouting at each other."

"Mmm. Still, I confess I'm overcome with curiosity." Constance leaned over her husband and touched his shoulder. "Simon?"

There was no movement at all.

She shook him a little harder. "Simon, wake up!"

He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over onto his side.

"You shan't get away that easily, my dear. Open your eyes."

Simon lifted one heavy lid and stared at her. "Go away." He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

Noelle laughed. "Neatly done, Constance."

"Very well, you vexatious girl, if you think you have a better way, I am most anxious to see you demonstrate it." She looked pointedly at Quinn.

"All right. Watch this."

Noelle pulled the bottle from Quinn's lap and set it on the table. Then, kneeling down beside his chair, she began gently stroking his cheek with her hand. "Darling, it's time to wake up."

With his eyes still closed, Quinn pulled her to his chest and began caressing her hair. "Oh, Highness," he whispered seductively.

Quickly Noelle extricated herself, but not before the high color had crept into her cheeks.

"Most edifying." Constance's green eyes twinkled with amusement. "Since we can't seem to rouse them, we should at the very least put some order to this disgraceful room. It smells frightful in here, like a tavern of the most disreputable sort!"

Noelle drew back the draperies and opened the windows. The rush of cool morning air accomplished what the women could not.

Slowly Simon began to stir. "Timezit."

"I beg your pardon, my dear?"

He forced his mouth to work. "What time is it."

"Nearly half past eight." As he pulled himself up into a sitting position, Constance placed her hand on her small hip. "Simon, what could you have been thinking of? Drinking all night. Sleeping in the drawing room. I don't permit myself to imagine what else."

"When I'm feeling better, Connie, remind me to spank you."

Noelle giggled.

Quinn opened his eyes a quarter of an inch. "Don't see what's so funny. Man can't drink in peace in his own house. Come here, Highness."

He reached out an arm for her, but she quickly dodged it. "No thank you. I don't trust you this morning."

"Not so loud," Simon groaned as he threw his forearm across his eyes. "Damned domestic brandy."

"Didn't hear you complaining last night." Quinn rubbed his hand over the dark stubble of his jaw.

"Why you son of a-" Remembering the presence of the ladies, he cut himself off and contented himself with grumbling, "Plies me with liquor. Now he criticizes me for drinking it."

Quinn laughed and then winced from the effort. "Damned brandy," he groaned.

Now it was Simon's turn to laugh.

"Simon! Quinn!" Noelle exclaimed. "Will you please tell us what happened?"

The two men exchanged a brief glance and then Quinn rose, somewhat unsteadily, and propped his arm across Noelle's slim shoulders. "We had good whiskey, bad brandy, and interesting conversation. Now, help me upstairs."

When they reached the doorway, he turned back toward Simon. "After we've had some breakfast, let's see if we can make it to the yard. I've got a problem I'd like your opinion on."

Constance and Noelle found each other's eyes. They would have to wait until later to discover exactly what had taken place in this room last night, but whatever it was, it had been good. Noelle smiled up at Amanda's portrait and clasped her arm more tightly about her husband's waist.

He brushed the top of her hair with his lips and then looked at his father. "Simon?"

"Hmmm?"

"Let's take Christopher with us."