by Lynn Kerstan
“Thank you very much,” he said. “As if I am not perfectly capable of directing my own life.”
“Exactly.” She dredged a smile from the pain that nearly overwhelmed her. “We will speak no more of this, Bryn. I’ll not marry you, and if you importune me, I shall leave immediately. Better we part as friends, don’t you think?”
He gave her a shadowed look. “Better we not part at all. But I’ll say no more on the subject. It will take more than words to dig you out of the cave you are hiding in. I know that, because I have been holed up in a place much like it for twenty years.” Tilting her chin with his hand, he directed her attention to the Black Mountains. “All barriers can be crossed, butterfly, and even the deepest well is open to the sky.”
Having no idea what he meant, she took his arm. “I’d as soon go back to London, if you are ready.”
His eyes were clouded. “Tomorrow morning. I’m finished here.”
CLARE BEGAN TO make preparations to leave.
When they arrived in London she moved back to Clouds, surprised that Bryn offered no objections. In spite of his promise, she had rather expected him to try and change her mind. But he seemed to have lost interest in marrying her, or even in keeping her close by.
For that matter, he was strangely indifferent to her plans for the future, although she tried to discuss them on the trip home. For the most part quiet and reflective, he listened politely, nodded, and soon changed the subject. Beyond insisting she remain in the city for a performance of his favorite opera, scheduled a week away, he appeared ready to say goodbye.
Even so, he kept her busy while they awaited The Magic Flute, and took her on a last whirlwind tour of London. They went to Vauxhall Gardens and the Tower, Westminster Abbey and Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, and one afternoon he staunchly endured an excursion to the Royal Academy so she could enjoy the paintings.
Every day he brought her a new book, but no more jewelry, thank the Lord. She had agreed to take everything he’d given her, because she knew it would hurt him if she did not. Again, he hadn’t seemed to care. “Whatever you like,” was all he said.
She was puzzled by this new mood. He was so unlike the Bryn she had come to know, although they both enjoyed the excursions and laughed a great deal. She ought to be relieved that their parting would be amicable, and grateful for the happy memories he was building for her.
Instead, she lay awake at night in the small bedroom where she’d first stayed at Clouds, wrestling with her own demons. Bryn now realized, as she had done immediately, that a marriage between them was impossible. But some mean-spirited part of her wished he had fought the idea a little harder.
Foolish, of course. If he wooed her or tried to seduce her, she would have no choice but to turn him away. It was purely female vanity that longed for some hint that their final parting was as difficult for him as it would be for her.
But how could it be? She loved him.
He did not love her.
He still desired her, though. She saw it in his eyes and recognized the strict discipline he imposed on himself when they were together. But desire was not the same thing as love. She had no right to expect him to share her feelings and took care not to show her own.
Saturday night would be their last together. On Sunday, his carriage would take her to Hastings and it would all be over. A new life awaited her. She tried to look ahead, gathering her courage, bracing herself for the pain.
But on Friday night, when he brought her home from the theater, Bryn announced a change of plans. Alice had given birth to a daughter, and her christening was to be Saturday afternoon. Claude wanted him to stand as godfather, so instead of the opera they would go to Richmond for the ceremony. The child was to be named Emily Clare, so naturally Alice expected Clare to attend.
“You only just found this out?” she protested.
“I have known for several days,” he said in a calm voice. “I feared your over-strict conscience might lead you to fret about going into a church, so I didn’t tell you. Perhaps we’ll make it back to London for the opera, perhaps not. But I could not tell Claude and Alice that we plan to separate just when they are supremely happy.”
“Of course not,” she said after a moment. “I shall be glad to see them one more time. You understand I must still leave for Hastings on Sunday?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you decide. Be ready at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, and wear something blue. It is how I want to remember you.” He brushed his lips across her cheek and moved to the door. “And Clare,” he said over his shoulder, “leave your hair down. Please.”
29
When they arrived shortly after noon, Clare saw a number of carriages lined up alongside the tiny church of St. Didacus. A towheaded urchin scurried over to take the reins, and Bryn swung her down from Black Lightning.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his hands warm on her waist as he held her close for a last private moment. “That dress suits you.”
As he had requested, she wore a pale blue gown, the sprig muslin picked out in darker blue. Before they left Clouds, he asked her to leave off her pelisse, and again she obeyed. Whatever he wanted on their last day together, she would give him.
“Surely we are late,” she observed. “Everyone is already inside.”
“They won’t start without us. Can you smile? This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”
With effort, she obliged him, unutterably nervous for some reason. Her discomfort grew when he untied the ribbon at her neck and lifted away her bonnet, tossing it into the curricle.
“I want to see your face, Clare. Indulge me.” His fingers stroked her hair, lifting it, spreading it over her shoulders.
At that moment, gazing into his eyes, she could deny him nothing. And when he took her hand, drawing her toward the church, she stumbled only once. To see Claude and Alice with their new child was almost more than she could bear, knowing such joy would never be hers. She only hoped she was strong enough not to cry.
As they stepped into the church, she saw Lady Isabella standing by the open door leading into the nave, holding a bouquet of daffodils tied with white satin ribbon.
“About time,” said the countess. “I was beginning to worry. What kept you?”
“Clare wouldn’t let me drive fast,” Bryn replied with a laugh. “Too much traffic. For some reason, she doesn’t think I know what I’m doing.”
“In general she would be right, but not this time.” Isabella turned to Clare and held out the bouquet. “This is for you.”
Dazed, Clare accepted the flowers and looked past Isabella, into the church. The bouquet slipped from her fingers. Everyone she knew was there.
In the rear pews were Charley Cassidy, Maude Beales, Amy, and Lyle Hendly, the chef. Next to him stood Florette. She recognized Bryn’s valet and other servants from the house at St. James’s Square.
Closer to the front, Claude held the hand of a still very pregnant Alice. Their three children waved a greeting.
Elizabeth Lacey, with Lady Dorinda at her side, gave her a bright smile. Robert was standing by the communion rail near the altar.
And in the front pew, one on either side of Ernestine Fitzwalter, were Joseph and Jeremy. They looked dignified and proud.
Bryn picked up the bouquet and held it out to her, his eyes glowing. “You cannot have imagined I’d let you get away so easily, butterfly. This is our wedding day.”
She regarded him for a long moment, aghast at what he had done. And then she slapped him. “The hell it is!”
Dumbfounded, Bryn watched her stride with firm purpose out the door.
“Oh, my,” Isabella murmured.
He handed her the bouquet. “A case of last-minute bridal jitters. Tell the vicar there will be a slight delay.”
Clare had stopped at the end of the churchyard path, beside the village’s main street, apparently considering what to do next. Her back was straight, and her hands opened and closed to fists as if she wanted to hit him ag
ain.
He approached carefully, halting a few feet away. “I believe you violated sanctuary by attacking me in a church, princess.”
He heard an oath no vicar’s daughter ought to know. And then she swung around and advanced on him with murder in her eyes.
“You think this is funny? Of all the contemptible, arrogant, high-handed things you have ever done, this is the most outrageous! How could you? How dare you?”
With fortitude, he held his ground. “I would dare anything for you,” he said simply. “Even your temper. You gave me no choice, Clare. Damned if I’ll let your noble but misguided notion about what’s best for me get in the way of what I want.”
“And Caradoc must always have what he wants, by whatever means.” She glowered at him. “Do you realize what you have done?”
“Certainly. I invited our friends to a wedding, procured a special license, and arranged for an alfresco reception where we had our picnic by the river. You do remember that?” He was pleased to see her blush.
“And neglected to inform the bride,” she said in a blistering voice. “Because you knew I would never agree.”
He waved a hand. “I allowed for that possibility, yes. You are a remarkably obstinate woman, my dear, and I figured a surprise attack was the only way to catch you off guard long enough to see reason. There was even a slight chance you’d think it vastly romantic.”
“I think it vastly harebrained.” She caught her breath. “And cruel, Bryn. What about Joseph and Jeremy? Dear God, how could you bring them here. Now they know—”
“What the duchess told them,” he said calmly. “Fortunately, she knew where they attended school, from the letters they sent you. She picked them up yesterday, and they spent last night at her house. From her account, the boys are delighted you are to be a countess, although Joseph required assurance that I deserve you. Ernie had considerable difficulty convincing him. As for Jeremy, he was impressed by my fortune, and I understand he plans to hit me up for a horse. Both of them assume we met under proper circumstances and that I fell madly in love with you.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “That last part is true.”
She blinked. “You love me?”
He spoke past a heavy lump in his throat. “I have never said so, sweet Clare, but only because I didn’t know it. Like all the colors I cannot see, love never seemed possible for me. It destroyed my mother, was ravaged by my father, and eluded me for thirty-five years. I failed to recognize it. Now I do.”
“Oh.” She backed away, biting at her lower lip. “But that only makes everything more difficult.”
“I fail to see how. A man who loves you wants to marry you. And you are not indifferent to me. I am vain enough to think this now, although you had good reason to despise me for a very long time. But that changed. You know it did.”
“Yes,” she admitted in a low voice. “But don’t you see? If I didn’t care for you, I would marry you in an instant.”
“Female logic.” He shook his head. “God help England if women ever get the vote. Until this moment, I thought you prodigiously wise, but now I wonder.”
“Of course I want the security, Bryn. I want everything you can give to me and the twins. Even the horse for Jeremy. More than that, I want to be with you. But most of all I want you to have a wife worthy of your position, because you will never be happy until the name of Caradoc is spoken with respect. That will not happen if you marry your mistress.”
“On the contrary.” He moved a step closer, relieved when she did not retreat, and tangled his fingers in her hair. “I expect us to be the envy of the ton, once the scandal is forgot. And it will be, Clare, sooner than you think. By the time our daughters are presented, no one will even remember my peculiar reputation, let alone that you occasionally appeared with me in public before our betrothal was announced. To the devil with what anyone thinks. We can weather any storm, so long as we are together.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“And so it is.” He dropped to one knee. “Marry me, butterfly. Tell me yes.”
“No, I cannot.” Her gaze lifted from his face, focusing on something behind him. “Do get up, Bryn. Everyone is staring at us.”
“Marry me,” he repeated.
“They’ve all come out of the church!”
He shrugged. “Say yes or I’ll go onto two knees.” When she failed to reply, he did. “Next I’ll kiss your feet. Marry me.”
“Bryn!”
Wrapping his fingers around her ankle, he leaned forward.
“Bloody hell!” She clutched at his hair. “Yes, you wretched man. Yes. I will marry you. Only stand up. You are making a fool of yourself.”
Surging to his feet, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her around. “I often do,” he said with a laugh. “Get used to it.”
“I already am,” she blazed. “Put me down!”
“Not yet.” He lifted her into his arms and kissed her deeply, glorying in her immediate response. From the church steps came the sound of applause.
“You have made me the happiest man in England,” he murmured against her lips. “Make that the world. I love you, Easter Clare.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “And I love you too, Bryn.”
“Oh, God.” His arms dropped to his sides.
Clare landed on her backside in the dirt.
He looked down at her with a dazed expression on his face. “Truly? I hoped someday you would, a long time from now, when I’d become the man you ought to have. And I am determined to do so, my love, whatever it requires. I promise.”
“To start with, you could help me up,” she said in a disgruntled voice.
Cursing himself, he lifted her to her feet and gave her a lopsided smile of apology. “Obviously I have a long way to go.”
“You will do well enough as you are, Caradoc. I am none too perfect myself. But while I love you with all my heart, don’t imagine I have forgiven you for this monstrous deception. When the celebration is over and the guests have gone, I fully intend to call you to account.”
He pretended to shiver in terror. “Surely you won’t scold me on our wedding night? Let us call a truce until tomorrow morning. Then you can rake me through the coals.”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” she corrected. “I want you fully awake for my lecture, and you are insensible before midday. You’ll not escape lightly, bear.”
“But I have all night to change your mind,” he reminded her. “Now come along, because the vicar grows almost as impatient as I am.”
Hand in hand, they moved to the church door as the wedding guests filtered inside ahead of them with wide smiles on their faces.
All except Jeremy, who had wandered over to examine Black Lightning, more fascinated by Bryn’s curricle than the sight of two grown-ups kissing each other. Finally realizing that everyone had disappeared, he raced down the aisle behind the bride and groom.
Robert Lacey beckoned Jeremy forward before he could slide into a pew and handed him the ring. “You can be best man,” he whispered.
The duchess pushed Joseph into the aisle. “Go stand by your sister. They will want you both beside them.”
It was a nearly perfect wedding, until the bride said, “I, Easter Wilhelmina, take you—”
At which point the groom dissolved in laughter. “Wilhelmina?” he choked.
She glared at him. “Wilhelmina. Get used to it, Bryndle.”
(Please continue reading to learn more about Lynn Kerstan)
About the Author
Lynn Kerstan, former college professor, folksinger, professional bridge player, and nun, is the author of sixteen romance novels and four novellas, all set in Regency England.
A five-time RITA Finalist (one win), she is regularly featured on awards lists. Since Romantic Times launched its Top Picks feature, every Kerstan novel has been a Top Pick. The Golden Leopard and Heart of the Tiger were selected by Library Journal for its Best Books of the Year list (2002 and 2003), and Dangerous Passions was named to
Booklist’s Top Ten Romances of 2005 list.
Formerly a teacher of English literature and writing at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. and the University of San Diego, Kerstan now conducts online popular-fiction workshops for writers groups and speaks at conferences. An internet junkie, she blogs about life, books and travel at StoryBroads.com, where her cat’s posts are far more popular than her own.
When not roaming the world, Kerstan lives an exemplary life in Coronado, California, where she plots her stories while riding her boogie board, walking on the beach, and watching Navy SEALs jog by.
Visit Lynn at lynnkerstan.com. and StoryBroads.com.