by Meghan Sloan
But her footsteps started to slow slightly as she gazed ahead. Someone was walking through the back gate of her house towards her. A tall figure dressed in green britches, a black jacket, and a crisp white shirt. High riding boots and ruffled, unruly dark hair.
Her heart clenched. It was Louis.
She didn’t hesitate for a moment. She picked up the hem of her gown and started to run towards him, panting in her haste. He was here. He had come to her. At last.
He was running, now, too, striding towards her. It seemed to take forever to get to him. It seemed that her legs could not carry her fast enough towards him.
But eventually, they met, almost colliding in their haste to get to one another. He picked her up, as if she were a doll, twirling her around in the air. She laughed breathlessly, her heart pounding in her chest. He laughed, too, a joyous sound that seemed to fill the air.
Finally, he put her down, his arms still around her, gazing down at her intently. She gazed up at him, her eyes eagerly taking in every little thing about him. The black stubble, just visible, beneath his jawline. The circles of weariness beneath his eyes. The way that he was smiling, a little wearily, but with relief, as well.
“You came,” she said, breathless, feeling almost like a blathering fool.
“I came,” he said, laughing again as he gazed at her.
“How is Ben?” she asked, reaching up, to stroke his face.
“He is much better,” he said, his smile widening. “He got up today and was running around, tearing around the nursery like a spinning top. The physician saw him this afternoon, and said that there was no need to attend him any longer.” He paused. “No need for me not to come to you, at long last, my Hetty. Oh, it feels like it has been years since I last saw your face …”
She gasped, her eyes filling with tears. “It has been exactly the same for me! I almost felt like I could not remember your face, anymore, even though it is etched upon my mind, for all of eternity …”
They kissed, then, lingeringly. His lips felt like coming home. When at last the kiss ended, she clung to him, burying her face into his chest. She never wanted to let him go.
He pulled back, staring at her, oddly. “Hetty,” he said, in a stiff, almost formal voice. “There is something that I need to say to you.” He paused. “Something that I need to ask you …”
“Well, what is it?” she said with a laugh, still breathless with happiness.
He suddenly knelt down on one knee, taking her hand. “I know that I have already asked for your hand in marriage,” he said, his voice thready with nervousness. “But I have not done it properly. Not at all. You deserve a proper proposal …”
Her heart soared, and her eyes filled with tears as she gazed down upon him.
“Henrietta Arnold,” he said, in a quiet voice, his eyes intensely green. “Will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”
She couldn’t help it, then. The tears started to stream down her face. She didn’t even bother to wipe them away.
This man. This man, who had waited so patiently for her to fall in love with him. This man, who claimed that he had loved her from the moment he had laid eyes upon her, all those years ago. This man, who had stood by her side, during the darkest period of her life, while she had tried to push him away in her pain, never giving up on her, or their love. This man, who had vowed he would wait for her for years, if necessary. For the rest of his life.
This man was the real thing. This man had given her the world. This man had given her back her life.
How she loved him. How she would love him forever.
“Yes,” she whispered, nodding her head. “Yes, yes, yes!”
At that moment, there was a large crack of thunder, so close that Della yelped in distress. The rain started pouring down, soaking them. He leapt to his feet. They were both laughing so hard that they could barely breathe.
“What?” he yelled. “What did you say?”
“I said yes,” she yelled back, laughing harder.
He kissed her, deliriously, hungrily, as if the rain was not pelting down upon them, plastering their hair to their scalps, soaking them to the core. After a few moments, they slowly parted, staring at each other.
“You had better get used to this,” he yelled, wiping the rain from his eyes. “I have heard that it rains a lot in Scotland.” He paused. “The carriage is waiting to take us there. Right now.”
She laughed harder, almost delirious with joy, gazing down at her sodden gown. “Do we have time to change?”
He grinned. “Yes. But don’t tarry. I cannot wait to make you my wife, Miss Henrietta Arnold. We must set off before I lose my mind entirely …”
He grabbed her hand, and they started to run through the rain together, jumping the rapidly forming puddles on the ground. Della looked like a drowned rat, leaping around, almost chasing her own tail. They were almost to the gate. She could see Mama’s face, a pale oval, peering through the back window, looking worried.
She stopped suddenly, letting go of his hand.
“What?” he yelled, gazing at her.
She took a deep breath. “There is something else that I need to do.”
Quickly, she loosened the gold ring that still encircled her finger. Her wedding finger. The gold ring that Frank had slipped on claiming her for his own, all those months ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now. She had been another woman entirely. Had it truly been she, who had stood at the altar beside him, vowing to love, honour, and obey, for the rest of her life? She would not recognise that woman at all, now. She did not know her in the slightest.
It was a little bit tight. She tugged at it before it suddenly came off her finger, lying in the palm of her hand.
She stared down at it for a moment, as the rain kept falling around them. It felt good to have it off her finger. She didn’t know why she hadn’t done it months ago.
And then, she hurled it, throwing it, with all of her might. She could see it spinning like a top in the air, the glint of gold against the grey sky, before the rain subsumed it entirely, almost swallowing it, so she had no idea where it landed.
It was gone forever. Just like her first marriage was gone. She was glad that she had not kept it as a memento, for there was nothing to feel nostalgic about. The court had officially ruled that her first marriage no longer existed, but it had always been that way. She had never been a married woman, in any manner. She had certainly never loved the man.
She smiled slowly, thinking about how scared and alone she had felt, the morning she had discovered that Frank had deserted her, thinking that her life was over. If only she had known what was ahead. If only she had known that another man was about to step out of the shadows, blinding her entirely. A man who was finally going to show her what real love was. A real man who knew how to love and be loved, in return.
“Come on,” he yelled, gazing at her as if she had gone crazy. “Time is ticking …”
She laughed again. And then, she took his hand once more, running into the house, and into the future, that awaited them both.
She simply could not wait.
Chapter 20
Hetty gazed out the window of the carriage, feeling as if she were in some kind of trance. The landscape had changed; they had been on the road for hours, now, heading through England, towards Scotland. The hills were not so green, here; almost tawny brown, in colour, and rocky. So very different to the verdant green of her home county in southern England.
Louis leant close to her, peering over her shoulder, out the window. “We are almost there,” he said in a low voice. “We are just about to cross the border into Scotland, from Northumberland.” He paused, gazing at her steadily. “Not long now to Gretna Green, my love.”
She felt a low thrum of excitement building within her at his words. She had heard of Gretna Green often, over the years, of course. It was the place where lovers fled to, to marry, without their parents’ consent, if they were underage, or did not have permission,
for whatever reason. The name of the town had always had a slightly romantic, dangerous ring to it. When she was younger, she could not imagine why anyone would do such a drastic thing. She hadn’t understood, then, how desperate people in love could become.
She understood it now.
She sighed, nestling into Louis’s shoulder. She knew that if he could have, he would have given her a full church wedding, with all the trimmings, surrounded by family and friends. He wouldn’t have made her flee to Scotland to marry over the blacksmith’s anvil, in secrecy. She prodded her feelings gently, surprised to discover that there were no residual feelings of shame about this. That, in fact, she was so very pleased that they were taking this trip together, and that it would only be the two of them when they finally exchanged their vows.
She had once had the full church wedding that had cost her father a small fortune. She had been dressed in an expensive wedding gown, and there had been over a hundred people at her fancy wedding breakfast. And look where it had ended up. A proper wedding did not mean that the marriage was going to be good, at all.
She much preferred what was to come, as long as this man was by her side.
She gazed out the window again. They were just about to cross the border into another country. And she felt as if she were crossing another threshold, as well. The threshold between her old life and her new one.
***
She sat in the corner of the old inn, in Gretna Green, waiting for Louis, who was speaking to the blacksmith, arranging their ceremony. Even though it was dark, now, and they were both weary from the journey, he told her that he could not wait for morning. They would be married, this night, even if he had to pay double what was normally the rate for the services of an anvil priest.
She sighed, peering out the window of the inn. She could not see much of the town in the dark, but what she had seen surprised her. It was so very small, only a few shops and houses scattered around. Somehow, because the town was so notorious, she had expected it to be bigger.
She squirmed impatiently. Louis was taking longer than he had told her. Was something wrong? Perhaps he could not find a priest to perform the ceremony, so late into the evening. Perhaps they would have to wait until morning, despite his best efforts.
She smiled slowly. Even though she was as eager to marry him as he was to marry her, that would not be so tragic, after all. They had waited a long time for this chance to arrive. Another night would not mean anything in the end.
And there was another pressing reason why she would not be too disappointed if they could not wed tonight. She knew that despite their weariness after the long journey, that he would want to take her immediately. He had vowed that he would wait until their wedding night to fully make love to her, and she knew, by the hungriness in his eyes, that his patience in that regard was wearing very thin.
She trembled with that old fear. As much as she wanted to make love to him, just as much as he wanted to make love to her, she was still a maiden, and she did not know what to expect. Her mother had intimated to her the night before her first wedding that she should expect some pain the first time. But she simply had no idea how painful it would be. Would she cry out and push him away, instinctively? She desired him so much, but would it be different at that pivotal moment?
She knew that it must happen, but she was apprehensive. If they had to wait another night, she could compose herself, just a little more. She hadn’t been expecting this today, after all, and hadn’t had time to prepare herself. Perhaps it would be a good thing if they were forced to wait.
But at that moment, she saw him walking quickly out of the blacksmith’s shop. She saw, by the spring in his step, that he had secured the priest.
Her mouth suddenly went dry. They were about to be married. The time had finally arrived.
***
Hetty gasped as she ducked her head, walking into the blacksmith’s shop, gazing around in sheer wonder.
It was clearly a working blacksmith’s shop. The brick walls were blackened with soot, mostly surrounding the hearth, in the centre of the room. There was a multitude of tools, hanging from hooks, and many horseshoes secured to a rafter. Everything that she would have expected in such a working environment.
But what she hadn’t been expecting was the transformation that Louis had obviously undertaken to complete before she stepped into the shop. There were white candles everywhere, all lit, glowing, in the darkness. He had even managed to find some flowers, which were strewn over every available surface.
Her eyes filled with tears. It was so very beautiful, almost ethereal. How had he managed to do it in such a short time?
Briefly, she recalled the expensive, intricate decorations at the church, where she had wed Frank. The hours of preparation that had been put into it. But it was as nothing, compared to what Louis had done, here. It could not compare at all.
He was standing next to the anvil, waiting for her. The priest looked tired and a little grumpy. Two witnesses – a man and a woman, who Louis had found at the inn, and paid for this service – were standing to the right of them. They both looked rather weary, too, as if they wanted to be anywhere but here, on this dark, cold night.
She thought of her bevy of bridesmaids, led by Annabelle, at her first wedding. She smiled. Even though she loved her friends, she would not wish them here. These weary strangers seemed an integral part of this whole, new, magical experience.
She blinked back the tears. It was perfect. She wanted to remember this scene, forever.
Louis smiled, holding out his hand towards her. She took a deep breath and stepped towards him, towards the anvil, and this new life, with him by her side for all eternity.
***
They walked into the small lodging room, at the same inn, hand in hand. They had not spoken a word to one another since they had completed their vows in the blacksmith’s shop and kissed beneath a garland of wild heather that he had picked from the fields.
Hetty gazed around the room, her heart thumping. It was very small. The bed in the centre of the room seemed to dwarf the space; there was barely room for any other furniture. Her mouth went dry. It would be on this bed, with its threadbare quilt, that they would finally consummate the love between them.
He turned her to him, gazing down at her, intently. “My wife,” he whispered, almost in wonder. “At last. You do not know how much I have yearned for this moment, my one and only love.”
She blinked rapidly, gazing up at him, her heart overflowing. “My husband. I have yearned for this moment, as much as you have.” She shuddered. “I feared it would never come …”
He brushed a hand over her face, softly, his eyes full of such love that her heart somersaulted over in her chest.
“I feared that it would never come, either,” he admitted. “I knew that you would never consent to be with me if your marriage to Blackmore was not dissolved.” He took a deep breath. “I knew that I was on the brink of losing you forever if we weren’t successful.”
She shuddered again, leaning into him. It could so easily have gone the other way. It was only by the grace of God that it hadn’t. So many applications for divorce were denied.
She squeezed her eyes shut, offering up a silent prayer of gratitude.
Thank you, Lord. Thank you for giving me this man. Thank you for seeing fit to let me live again.
“It is time, Hetty,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm. “Are you ready?”
A frisson of nervousness swept through her. But as she gazed into his face, seeing the love and desire there, it suddenly started to dissolve. Anticipation of what was to come replaced it. He was her husband, now, and they were going to become man and wife in the true sense of the word.