by Sophia James
I never thought the day would come when I’d stand up and pledge myself to another, not since Charity slipped through my fingers like water. It’s a shame Ma isn’t here to see this miracle—I don’t think she’d believe it, either.
He stole another glance at Sophia out of the corner of his eye, drinking in the clear line of her profile and solemn crease of her brow with something like wonder. Now the moment was upon them it seemed like a dream. Surely the idea of a woman like Sophia joining with him for ever was something too strange to be true—but it was she who had suggested it, he thought again with frank disbelief, and she who had chosen him as her future. Together they would start a family based in truth, without secrets and shame lurking in the shadows, a prospect that made his insides twist sharply and without warning. Sophia would never love him or feel the dangerous stirrings that taunted Fell whenever he saw her smile or watched as she gently stroked Lash’s ears, but she was prepared to give him the most precious gift and one thing he had always wanted: legitimate children and people he could call his own.
Her sacrifice might drive away the tension Ma’s visits brought with the reminder that he was neither fully Roma nor otherwise, the question of his heritage perhaps somewhat soothed, and for that he resolved to repay Sophia time and again with the kindness she’d apparently never known. If his feelings for her were blossoming from regard to something more, he would make sure she never knew it—only unhappiness for both of them the reward if he were to let his disloyal weakness slip.
Rector Birch nodded at Sophia’s whispered vows and turned to Fell, only half-listening to the words that would unite two people from completely different worlds to try to make a new path together. It was a service the rector had performed more times than he could count, although Fell had no doubt the older man’s attention would be more acute if he knew how unusual a couple stood before him. Sophia’s humble disguise had served her well, however, as there was no trace of recognition that all was not as it seemed as Rector Birch gestured for Fell to produce the ring.
A flicker of self-conscious apprehension passed over him as Fell retrieved the band from the pocket of his waistcoat and weighed it in his palm, not for the first time wishing it was more elaborate.
She must be used to wearing jewels I’ve never seen the like of, he thought as he looked down at her flushed face, even now a little uncertain at his hesitation.
Sophia’s eyes followed every movement, sea-glass–green stretched wide as he straightened his fingers and allowed her to see what nestled in his palm.
Her darkened brows rose in surprise and her mouth formed a perfect circle at the gleaming gold ring sitting in his warm hand. For a moment she simply stared, before that emerald gaze fixed on his and he saw a hundred unspoken questions flit through it like wind-tossed leaves. If his heart hadn’t abruptly leapt up into his throat at the disbelieving appreciation he saw in her face, he might have smiled. Instead he was unable to move as much as a muscle made rigid by the shy delight stealing in to replace her uncertainty. Whatever she’d been expecting it evidently wasn’t this: a perfect, dainty ring forged by his own hand from pure gold, the most exquisite thing he had ever made for the most deserving woman he could imagine. The precious metal had been costly to buy, it was true, and infuriatingly fiddly to shape, but every second of frustration was washed away when he took Sophia’s slender hand in his own and slipped the ring on to the third finger as if she had been born to be its mistress.
He heard a tiny sound escape her at the touch of his hand and felt a corresponding rush of confusion at the expression that skittered across her face, half-pleased and half-shocked, as though somehow disturbed by the feel of his skin against hers. He wanted to ask her what it meant, that glimmer of something nameless but tangible that now hung in the air between them, but the next moment to his shame he realised he didn’t dare. Sophia’s reaction might be nothing at all, a gleaming haze like a mirage and just as deceptive, and he shouldn’t try to coax something from her that would only disappoint his foolish hopes. Perhaps he’d been wrong to pour so much of his heart and soul into her wedding band, yet no reward could be greater than the quiet pleasure with which she moved her finger back and forth to catch the light, the ring a glittering ornament on a woman with no need for such gilding, so brightly did she already glow.
A sensation like fire fled through Fell’s nerves to thrill in each sinew, making it all the more difficult to fight the growing desire to seize hold of her tiny hand again and pull her closer. Soon he would be able to do just that if he chose—but the idea of alarming his bride filled his mouth with a sour taste he tried to swallow back down.
That would frighten her for certain—and I will not have my wife regard me with fear.
All the same, the longing to capture her in his arms called to him insistently, wheedling and whispering his name—until Rector Birch muttered the words that sang in his ears and Sophia turned to him with determination that sparked a fresh blaze in the depths of his chest.
‘…and so I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.’
The rector sounded mildly disapproving, not entirely convinced of the propriety of allowing a Roma bastard to kiss his equally questionable bride in the sanctity of a church, but Fell had no attention to waste on anything other than Sophia’s flushed face. The rector, the witnesses, the empty pews and the peaceful stillness of the ancient church were nothing but indistinct shadows as Fell took Sophia’s peach-soft cheek in his hand, bent down—and settled his mouth on hers.
It was a relief to touch her, to feel her warmth against him again as he had that night in the moonlit forge when she had come to him and set in motion the events that would change his life for ever. He brought his arms around her without even realising he had moved. Of course the changes had begun before that, he realised distantly somewhere in the back of his mind, too intent on drinking in every second of contact between his lips and hers to allow for any distractions. He hadn’t known it at the time, but surely the real beginning was the moment he found Sophia in the forest, her eyes wide with fear and the wan beauty of her face piercing his defences like an arrow. How could he have guessed that same woman would become his wife, now bound to him until parted only by death?
Sophia swayed slightly in his arms but didn’t pull away, accepting the gentle questing of his lips with a tiny sigh that dropped dynamite into Fell’s chest. The relief of kissing her again should have helped quench the flames that leapt inside him yet that breath only stoked them higher, not enough cool water in the world to douse the conflagration that raged while she stood within the circle of his arms.
He felt the creep of one tentative little hand on the flat muscle of his back and couldn’t suppress a shudder of sensation at the exploring fingers roaming a landscape left bereft of touch for more years than he could count. The last woman he had held against him and breathed in her scent had been Charity, who returned his kisses with robust enthusiasm; Sophia was more hesitant, still so inexperienced and unsure, but there was a curious spark beneath her innocence that made her go on, finally surrendering entirely to Fell’s clever mouth and half-swooning in his firm embrace. The little hand explored higher, ghosting over lean ribs and tracing the stacked column of Fell’s spine while he held her close, the secret lines of her slender body separated from him by only the flimsiest of blue muslin and smouldering beneath his fingertips.
Something inside him stirred like a wild animal waking from its winter sleep, raising its head and blinking in the first sun of spring as he summoned his courage to drop a hand to her waist and feel its heated span with a burning palm. Still Sophia didn’t flinch from him, a realisation as startling as it was welcome—wasn’t she shocked to find him so ardent, her high-born sensibilities offended by his commoner’s advance? Perhaps he ought to break the kiss before he strayed too far and discovered the limits of his new wife’s tolerance, before the working of his tender lips prompt
ed a frown rather than green eyes closed in something akin to enjoyment—
But no action on Fell’s part was necessary.
‘I imagine that’s quite enough, Mr Barden.’
At the sound of the rector’s affronted voice Sophia froze in Fell’s arms, her languid posture straightening at once and eyes snapping open to stare up at him with mortification that couldn’t have been more clear. Her face flooded scarlet and she took an unsteady step back, shattering the connection between them and pressing one hand to the front of her heaving bodice to lay flat against where her heart—if it was anything like Fell’s own—must have been bounding in a rhythm all its own. With her lips still parted, pink and petal-soft, and her breath coming quickly she looked so irresistible Fell could have elbowed the rector aside and taken her face in his hands once again.
But I won’t.
Fell swallowed down what felt like a lump of broken glass trapped in his dry throat and tried to force a smile for the brand-new Mrs Barden.
Whatever just happened was surely a result of the moment and one I took too far.
Sophia might not have pushed him away, but that didn’t mean she’d appreciate a repeat of his actions, straying as they had dangerously close to uncovering the forbidden desires of Fell’s heart. Now they were man and wife and would have to live together it was more vital than ever he kept his true feelings towards her hidden, the unveiling of sentiment Sophia would never return only making living together unbearable for both.
She’s my wife now and I am her husband, but I can never forget how little I deserve her—or hope she might ever come to truly care for a fatherless blacksmith with nothing to offer but the safety of a wedding vow.
Sophia barely lifted her eyes to his as they signed the register, her hand quaking a little as with a stroke of the pen she threw her life into his keeping. His own fingers were more steady, the bold signature Rector Frost had helped him to devise as a young lad standing out proudly in glossy black ink on the page that tied him to his refined new bride. The witnesses signed likewise and then it was done: in less than an hour Fell had gone from a single man to a husband with a whole world now opened up before him, the prospect of a family to call his own now within his grasp.
The woman to thank for his good fortune hovered at his side like a periwinkle ghost, her face pale but for two bright spots of colour that blazed on her cheeks. She glanced across at him, a swift cut of her jade eyes, and he could have sworn he caught a glimmer of relief pass over them as she saw his reassuring smile.
It’s my job to care for her now, starting from this moment—I could begin by helping her to stop looking like a rabbit caught in a snare.
If she felt a stab of regret for what she’d just done, there was no way back now, he thought as with a nod to the rector he held out his arm. Both he and Sophia had signed their existence into the hands of the other and they had no choice but honour that commitment, regardless of any uncertainties and fears that might swirl inside two stomachs. The gentlewoman and the half-Roma would have to learn to deal together, and the look on Sophia’s countenance told Fell she had just reached the same conclusion.
‘May I escort you outside, Mrs Barden?’
Her blush deepened, but Sophia slipped her hand into the crook of Fell’s arm and allowed him to lead her back up the aisle he had guided her down not long before. She still limped a little on her injured leg, but her back was straight, her shoulders square with the perfect poise of a fine lady, and for the first time Fell felt a rush of pride suffuse him that caught him unawares. By what miracle did he have holding his arm an elegant woman with a kind heart, who might pass those qualities to his sons and daughters? Surely there was no man alive that could look at Sophia and not feel a pang of envy for her husband, a notion Fell had never considered. For the first time in his life his position might inspire jealousy, a realisation so novel he had to fight the desire to utter a dry laugh.
He pushed open the heavy door of the church with a flourish and drew Sophia out into the blinding summer sunshine. The light glanced off her silken hair and he stopped to admire it, wishing he could run his fingers through the sun-warmed strands when he heard his name called in earnest.
‘Barden! Barden, will you come with me to Down Farm? It’s a matter of urgency!’
Both he and Sophia turned to see a young man running towards them on the road that led out of the village to the fields beyond, kicking up clouds of dry dust as he hastened in their direction.
Fell drew his dark brows together, regarding the man as he drew alongside them with his face red and breath escaping in short pants.
Winters the farmhand? What does he want? Any simpleton can see this isn’t the moment.
‘I’ve just been wed, Winters. Surely you wouldn’t expect me to come on my wedding day.’
‘You have my sincerest congratulations—and you too, Missus—’ Winters nodded breathlessly at Sophia ‘—but it can’t wait. The Downs’ gelding has fallen and his leg looks a fright: the only person who might save it is you.’
Fell hesitated, suddenly caught. Any other villager wanting a favour would have fallen on deaf ears, but Winters was amiable enough and the idea of a suffering animal was something different altogether. Under normal circumstances he would have left at once, but with Sophia at his side he felt torn.
I can’t go running off on our wedding day, yet the life of the Downs’ gelding hangs in the balance…
If the young horse’s leg was irreparable he would be killed, a sad end to a life so full of promise and a prospect that clawed at Fell’s throat.
Sophia made his mind up for him. With a half-smile she disengaged herself from his arm, the place where her hand had been now curiously empty without her touch. ‘You go, Fell. It sounds as though you’re needed more at the farm than at the cottage.’
‘You’re certain?’
She nodded, the pretty colour flooding her cheeks only making her more beautiful in the hazy sunshine. ‘Of course. If anyone can help that poor creature, it’s you.’
There was no time to stop and enjoy Sophia’s words; all Fell knew was they filled the space behind his breastbone with heady warmth where once there had been nothing but an achingly lonely void. Her confidence and unquestioning belief in him took him by surprise in the very best of ways—as did that knowing smile—but with Winters waiting restlessly for Fell to follow him there was nothing to do but take Sophia’s hand and gently press a kiss on to her knuckles, that glow increasing until she was like a poppy in a garden.
‘I’ll return as soon as I can. I bid you good afternoon—Wife.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Snakes turned somersaults inside her as Sophia sat by the dying embers of the sitting-room fire and watched her wedding ring glint in their orange glow. The sun had finally dipped out of sight behind the trees that hid the cottage—her cottage, now—and the only light came from the fireplace as Sophia took another breath to steady the lurching of her heart.
A wife at last, only not to the man I was intended for—and he can never touch me now.
The enormity of what she had done that afternoon circled her like a savage pack of wolves, the images of Mother and Septimus clawing their way to the forefront of her mind to make their displeasure known. Mother’s face was dark with insurmountable rage in the shadows of Sophia’s thoughts, elegant features drawn into a mask of ugly fury, and Septimus’s cold anger made her shudder as though a cold breeze had swept the room. Even beyond their reach the thought of their reactions bothered her, although nothing could blot out the other object that occupied her crowded mind. At one time it would have been unthinkable for anything to surpass her fear of those left behind at Fenwick Manor, but the events of the day had worked magic to help her look beyond those terrors and focus on someone else entirely.
Fell.
His kiss still tingled on her knuckles as she gazed down at the r
ing he had wrought himself, huge hands surely struggling to make such a delicate piece and a testament to his skill. Each time she twisted it to feel the smooth metal brush heated skin she recalled his look of concentration as he had slid it into place, a slight crease appearing between his dark brows that she longed to trace with gentle fingertips. Already she had found it difficult to stand at the altar beneath the weight of her apprehension and the desire to curve just a little closer to her new husband, one she’d had to fight hard against; and when he had taken her face in his hands as carefully as if she was made of fine china her legs had almost buckled entirely, only the unshaking scaffold of his arms keeping her upright in his embrace.
She shivered now at the memory of how softly his lips had roamed her own and lifted a finger to touch where a ghost of that sensation still lingered. If Rector Birch hadn’t intervened, who knew how long Sophia would have stayed rooted to the spot in dazed delight as Fell taught her a lesson she hadn’t known that she hadn’t known: how good it could feel to be beneath the spell of a handsome man with a clever mouth and hands big enough to cup the entire span of her scalding waist. It was a lesson she’d learned gladly at the time, although as the afternoon wore on into evening Sophia’s misgivings increased with the lengthening shadows.
He’ll be back soon and then we will have to begin it, our life together, starting with what happens tonight.
Her cheeks burned hotter than the stirring coals at the thought of what was to come when Fell’s heavy footsteps returned from Down Farm. He would claim his rights as a bridegroom on his wedding night, just as she had sworn he could on the night she had brokered their engagement…whatever exactly that would turn out to mean. More fortunate young brides might have been tactfully informed by a loving mama of what to expect, but Sophia had no such thing, only the vicious entity that was Mother, and Lady Thruxton would sooner have thrown her best pearls into a river than do anything to help prepare her daughter for what was to come. All Sophia’s knowledge—and there was precious little of it—was vague at best, only that sharing a bed was a necessary evil all women must endure for the making of children like those she had promised Fell as payment for her safety. Aside from her promise it was essential to ensure the unquestionable validity of their marriage, husband and wife in action as well as in name, and having come so far there was no way Sophia could fall at the final hurdle of escaping from the fate Mother had wanted for her.