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day, wishing he could make the hands move more slowly. This was his wedding day. Tonight would not be his wedding night. Damn.
    Marrying the woman was still the right thing to do. He had to travel to England, to claim his lands and accounts. There was no other way but marriage that he could do that while protecting her and the reputation she held dear. Giving her his name and a secure future was a good deed, a noble act, a self-sacrifice, even. Why, he would be giving up the chance to father a son of his own, one to carry on after him. That was what every man seemed to want, wasn’t it? Of course he was not every man, not by half. No matter, the idea of wedding the widow felt…nice. Nice was another long-forgotten emotion he welcomed, especially since it was not nearly as uncomfortable as unsatisfied desire.
    He’d bought her bonnets and shawls and laces when the shops reopened, just to see her smile. No, he told himself, he was not trying to buy her affections. That would be base, beneath him. The image of Mrs. Macklin, beneath him, was quickly erased. He did not want a woman’s compliance out of gratitude.
    Lord, it was going to be a long six months after he vowed his faithfulness. He pulled the blanket more firmly around his shoulders. Maybe he should find a young officer to wed her, a fellow of good birth but little fortune who’d be willing to have her for a price. The young man would swear to cherish her—or Ardeth would have his liver and lights—for far longer than the half year Ardeth had. A suitable marriage of convenience might be better for all of them.
    Then the recent Reaper recalled her smile and knew he would not give her to another man. He could add possessiveness and jealousy to his rediscovered feelings, which might not make him a better man, but made him a more believable man. Ardeth could not help himself; Mrs. Macklin made him feel more alive. Just her name stirred him. Imogene Hopewell Macklin. Imagine. Hope. Well. A magic Genie. She was obviously meant to be his.
    She needed him. He needed her. There were worse excuses for weddings.
    The gremlin must have agreed with him, for the crow brought back a gold band yesterday and dropped it at Ardeth’s feet. Many such keepsakes would have been trampled under the mud of the battlefield, or stolen from corpses.
    “I sent you for the hourglass, you plaguesome creature.”
    “Pretty for the pretty, pigeon brain,” the crow squawked back, flapping its wings in Ardeth’s face.
    No one was chasing the bird crying “thief”; no initials could lead to the ring’s rightful owner. Most of all, the jewels in the vault of the earl’s castle, now called Ardsley Keep, were far away.
    “I suppose it will have to do, Olive.”
    “Stuff it.”
    *
    Genie’s first betrothal was a hurried affair, three weeks of calling the banns in front of her own village parish, where each and every congregant knew Elgin had been meant for her sister, Lorraine. This was a still-shorter scramble, although longer than his lordship wished. He was in a hurry to return to London and his inheritance, she understood. Genie would not mind leaving this scene of carnage, disgrace, and innuendo.
    Not even the Earl of Ardeth could conjure a proper, legal wedding in so little time, however, locating a willing English cleric and a special license so far from Britain.
    “Perhaps we should wait until we return home,” she offered.
    “No, people will talk. They are bound to, anyway, with my sudden appearance and reinstatement of the Ardsley family title.”
    To say nothing of his peculiarities, Genie thought, but did not speak aloud. He always wore his cape despite the heat of the day, carried a crow on his shoulder, and often spoke to empty air. He could put a pain-wracked soldier to sleep with a word and a touch, yet he never seemed to sleep himself. Genie chose to ignore the disturbing aspects. She had to, to preserve her own sanity. “I thought you did not care about