Sweet Awakening

by Marjorie Farrell

  “No, no. It is just a feeling I have had lately, since I have seen you together more. Why would you even consider tying yourself to me, when you could have Sabrina?”

  “Because I can’t have Sabrina, even if she wanted me. Which she doesn’t. I am a younger son, Clare, and fourth in line for the succession. I am a barrister, although that in itself presents no barrier, since it is considered a gentlemanly enough calling,” Andrew said ironically. “But I don’t pursue it in a gentlemanly enough manner. I deal with all sorts of criminals and riffraff. I have an adequate allowance, but an earl’s daughter, particularly Sabrina, deserves better.”

  “She doesn’t seem to have been moved by any elder sons, Andrew. This is her third Season, and I see no sign of any attachment.”

  “She will meet someone someday.” Andrew paused. “Giles, however, will not. He has always loved you, Clare. Surely that should count for something.”

  “But doesn’t he deserve a woman who knows who she is and what she wants?”

  “Be patient with yourself, Clare. I am sure these feelings will pass. Giles may be rushing things; I don’t know. But I can understand. I would guess that he feels like he doesn’t want to miss this chance.”

  “Or I will find another Justin?” asked Clare bitterly.

  “Hardly. That part of your life is over, Clare. You must put it behind you.”

  “I hope I can, Andrew. But sometimes I am afraid Justin will always be with me.”

  * * * *

  A week after her visit with Andrew, Giles called on Clare before noon. She wanted to turn him away, but knew that she was only delaying the inevitable. If she didn’t allow him to make his declaration, he would only come back again tomorrow, and tomorrow. “And tomorrow,” she whispered aloud without realizing. “Creeps in this petty pace ...”

  “What is that, my lady?” asked Peters, who was waiting for her response.

  “Oh, nothing, Peters. Tell Lord Whitton I will see him.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Macbeth had never been a favorite play of Clare’s. She had preferred Shakespeare’s romantic comedies over his tragedies. And of all the tragedies, a play that made a murderer the tragic hero was her least favorite. But the words had suddenly come to her from nowhere and seemed to express very well how she had been feeling. She had believed that stories had happy endings when she had married Justin. Probably that was why she had stayed: she had thought she could somehow wrest a happy ending from her marriage. She had believed and hoped anew each time he had promised to change. Even at the end, she had thought his decision to see Dr. Shipton might have turned everything around, and given her suffering some meaning.

  But what meaning did that suffering have if one’s husband was dead at one’s own hand? Her story seemed to have become a “tale told by an idiot,” going nowhere. The only meaning she could imagine finding in it, the only “happy ending” she could conceive of, would be if she gave one to Giles. Her own story signified nothing, but if she married Giles, perhaps she could give his meaning. Or at least the ending he deserved. How he could still want her, she didn’t know, but if he did love her and asked her to be his wife, she would let him have her and do her best to make him not regret it.

  * * * *

  When Giles was shown into the morning room, Clare was standing by the window, looking out at the soft, but steady rain that was falling.

  “I had intended to ask you to go for a drive in the park, Clare, but the weather is against us, as you can see,” he said.

  “It is early for a drive, Giles,” responded Clare, turning and facing him.

  “I know. I was hoping we would have the park to ourselves.”

  Clare moved away from the window and sat down. Giles remained standing, even when she motioned to the sofa with her hand.

  He cleared his throat nervously. “I know it is early for a call, Clare, but I wanted some time with you alone.” He hesitated, and then continued. “I know that these past few weeks have been hell for you, no, these past two years. Perhaps I should be giving you more time ...”

  “Time for what, Giles?”

  “Time to forget what you have been through, time to begin to enjoy life again. But I find I can’t. I suppose it is because I did it once before and lost you. I never asked you to marry me before your first Season because I wanted you to be free to enjoy it. Of course, I never dreamed that you would really meet anyone,” he added with a bitter laugh. “I still love you, Clare. I never stopped loving you, although I tried very hard to convince myself that I had.”

  “What about Lucy Kirkman, Giles? Would you have married her if ... if Justin were still alive?”

  “I suppose I would have,” admitted Giles. “Lucy and I would have rubbed along well together, I think. But Justin’s death changed everything, Clare.”

  “Yes, it did, Giles,” Clare said softly.

  “You are free of that monster. I am free. There was never any spoken agreement between Lucy and me. And I find I don’t want to wait, Clare. I want to bring you back to Whitton. I want us to spend the summer there. You need someone, Clare, someone who loves you, to help you forget the past two years.”

  “But do you need me, Giles? I am not sure I have much to give anyone right now.”

  “Of course you feel that way, Clare. I understand. I won’t force you to any intimacy until you are ready. And you don’t need to give me anything, my dear. Except yourself.”

  “That feels like a poor gift, Giles,” Clare whispered.

  Giles sat down on the sofa next to her and took her hands in his. “Clare, I have loved and wanted you for a long time. The fact that you are free seems like a miracle to me. We can start our story again where it left off. You will forget the last two years, I promise you. You will be safe with me.”

  Clare could not look up into Giles’s eyes, for she was afraid of what she would see there. His love was almost too much for her, and so she looked at her hands in his. His thumb was gently and rhythmically brushing the back of her hand. It was very relaxing, and if she only focused on that sensation, she knew she could say yes, could give Giles what he wanted, what he deserved: his happy ending, his Clare.

  “If you are sure, Giles?”

  “I am sure.”

  “Then, yes, I will marry you.”

  Giles dropped her hands and lifted her chin with his finger. “Tell me again, Clare.”

  “You are my oldest and dearest friend, Giles, and I will be your wife.”

  Giles lowered his mouth to hers and brushed it gently with his lips. Clare felt a stirring of desire, but it so frightened her that she lowered her face. Giles reached out and smoothed her hair. “I won’t rush you on this, Clare,” he said quietly. “Only on the wedding date,” he added with a self-mocking smile.

  “Whenever you wish, Giles. My only wish is that it be very private.”

  “I was assuming that you would visit with your parents at the end of the Season, Clare. Would you like to be married from your father’s house?”

  Clare smiled up at him, one of the first spontaneous smiles he had seen from her in a long time. “Oh, yes. I had always wanted the Reverend Stiles to marry me, but Justin wanted a London wedding.”

  “We can be married in the parish church with just family around us, Clare, if that is what you want.”

  “And Andrew More.”

  “Of course, Andrew. If it weren’t for him ...” Giles didn’t finish, but they both sat silent for a moment. Giles put his arms around her very gently and held her to his heart before releasing her and standing up.

  “I will see you tonight, Clare?”

  “Yes, Giles. We do not have to make this public, do we? I don’t think I could bear being the center of more scandal. It will be bad enough after we are married.”

  “By the fall, they will have forgotten us, Clare,” said Giles with a reassuring smile. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and was gone, leaving her to wonder whether she had just made a decision that Giles would
one day come to regret.

  * * * *

  Giles told his sister that afternoon, and she called on Clare immediately.

  “I am thrilled, Clare. I have never seen Giles look so happy. He is off to speak with your father and mother.”

  “I hope I am doing the right thing, Sabrina.”

  "Because it is so soon after Justin? Don’t worry about the gossip, Clare. We will all be at Whitton by then, and it will die down by the fall.”

  “Not just the scandal, Sabrina. I mean for Giles.”

  "I know Giles better than most sisters know their brothers, Clare. He was devastated when you married, although he hid it well. And if you are at all worried about Lucy Kirkman, you shouldn’t be. His heart has always been yours.”

  “That is exactly my concern, Sabrina. The only thing I can do for Giles to make him happy is to give him myself, but I am afraid I have not much to give.”

  “Clare, you have always underestimated yourself,” Sabrina protested. “I think you and Giles could make each other very happy. You just have not yet taken it in that you are free from that horrible marriage. You will be safe with Giles, Clare, and will never be treated brutally again.”

  Or loved as passionately? wondered Clare, immediately appalled at her own question. Most of the time when she thought of Justin, it was with terror and overwhelming remorse. But occasionally she would remember the early days of their courtship and marriage, and the pleasure she had found with him. Dear God, there must be something terribly wrong with her if she could still cherish some of those glorious moments with her late husband. She had certainly paid a high enough price for that ecstasy.

  Sabrina did not stay long, and shortly after she left, Andrew called. Clare received his congratulations quietly, and told him that she not only absolutely demanded his presence at the ceremony, but hoped he would come for an extended visit to Whitton that summer.

  * * * *

  That evening, at the Bellingham rout, Andrew approached Sabrina and was lucky enough to obtain both a waltz and the opportunity to escort her in to dinner.

  What Andrew thought was luck was actually Sabrina’s decision to save room on her card for Andrew now that he was attending ton functions more regularly. She felt fairly secure that he would ask her but not at all sure that, were she not free, he would keep coming back on future occasions. Some men might have been that persistent, not Andrew. He was not at all full of himself, which was one reason, an acceptable one. Or possibly he did not care that much about a dance or a supper with Lady Sabrina Whitton, which was a much less acceptable explanation.

  Andrew was distracted during their waltz and did not talk much. He was happy for Giles and Clare, worried about them, and envious, all at the same time. Whatever their problems, at least they were of equal rank and status.

  What was he doing, torturing himself by dancing with Sabrina, drinking in the sweet rosewater scent of her, when nothing could ever come of it? He was always surprised that she managed to find a dance for him, for she was very popular, and rumor had it that Lord Patrick Meade might be attempting to fix an interest. Lord Meade was exactly the sort of man she should marry: rich, titled, tall, handsome, not too staid. With him, Sabrina would have everything she was used to: wealth, a lovely country estate, and luxurious town house. With Andrew, she’d have nothing. So Andrew was very careful not to enjoy his waltz too much.

  Over supper, he was quiet also, and Sabrina finally commented upon it.

  “I am sorry, Sabrina. One of my cases has been preoccupying me,” he lied.

  “Clare told me you know of the engagement.”

  Andrew’s face brightened. “Yes, I have wished them both happy.”

  “Do you think they will be, Andrew?”

  He thought awhile before answering. “Perhaps not immediately. Clare needs more time to recover than Giles realizes, I am sure. But ultimately? They are very well-matched, and the affection between them runs long and deep.”

  Sabrina smiled. “I am glad you think so, Andrew. I can’t help but worry about my twin, you know. You will come to Whitton this summer?” Sabrina asked as casually as she could.

  Andrew hesitated a moment and then said: “Yes, I think I will be able to get away for a short visit.”

  “I will look forward to the four of us fishing and riding, then,” said Sabrina. “It will be just like old times.”

  Ah, Sabrina, thought Andrew, it can never be like old times again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  By the time a small announcement appeared in the Times, Clare and Giles had been married a week. While it was true that society was scandalized by such a quick marriage, and between two people who had been suspected of being lovers by Lord Rainsborough, most of the ton had left London and only a few people were gossiping over tea or in the clubs. Most were on their way to the country, and by the time they heard about it, it seemed like stale news. Which was exactly what Giles had hoped would happen.

  * * * *

  He and Clare stayed with her parents for a few days after the ceremony, and then set off for Whitton. When he handed his new wife down in front of the house, Giles remembered Clare’s first visit. There was something in her eyes that reminded him of the frightened ten-year-old, and he felt the same surge of protectiveness as he led her into the house. She was still thin and tired-looking and had been very quiet these past few days.

  Their things were taken to his bedroom suite, and once the bags were set down and the footman had left, Giles dismissed Martha and joined Clare in her room. She was standing there, looking lost, and he was immediately drawn to her side.

  “This is all rather too much for you, isn’t it, Clare?”

  “I am sorry, Giles. It takes some getting used to. I have been Lady Rainsborough for two years now, and all of a sudden, I am Lady Whitton. This is not Devon, but Somerset ... and ...”

  “And I am not Justin, only Giles.”

  “Thank God for that, Giles,” responded Clare fervently.

  “I told you on our wedding night I did not intend to rush things, Clare. The door between us will always be open, but I will wait for you to invite me into your bed.”

  Clare blushed. “I am sorry, Giles.”

  “There is no need to apologize, Clare. We will have a whole lifetime together.” Giles leaned down and dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. All his kisses had been gentle and nonintrusive, and for this Clare was grateful, for they stirred only a momentary response before fear took over. She wondered if that part of her was dead. If so, it would be fitting punishment for killing her husband. But even so, eventually she would have to walk through Giles’s door and pretend to a passion she might never feel again. All of a sudden, she felt an all too familiar exhaustion hit her.

  “I think I would like to rest before coming down to dinner, Giles.”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  * * * *

  Clare spent the next week in bed. She would wake in the morning, have tea and toast in her room, summon enough energy to get up, but once at her dressing table, would be utterly overcome by the idea of leaving her bedroom and entering into her new life. She would return to bed and sleep the mornings away. She then ate a light lunch in her room, and after reading only a few pages of her book or leafing through the latest La Belle Assemblee, she would slide under the covers and sleep again.

  She felt like something thrown up by the tide, a tide that was at its lowest ebb. A tide that might never run again, never flow back to float her, to bring her back into life. Even the thought of how she must be disappointing Giles couldn’t move her.

  Giles was disappointed, of course, but also worried. He had imagined that he and Clare would rediscover the camaraderie they had enjoyed on her summer visits, and here he was, eating alone, sleeping alone, riding alone. That was not precisely true, of course, for he had Sabrina, who was there to reassure him. After the first three days, they summoned the family physician, who confirmed Sabrina’s opinion that there was nothing physically w
rong with Clare.

  “Lady Whitton is suffering from complete exhaustion, Giles,” the doctor announced. “Perhaps suffering isn’t the right word,” he added. “Really her body is only doing what it needs to do to restore itself. She has been through a lot these past months. You will have to be patient.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You were right, Sabrina,” Giles admitted after the doctor had gone.

  “Give her time, Giles.”

  Giving Clare almost a fortnight seemed like giving her forever. But when at last she came downstairs, Giles had to admit that she looked much better than she had in months. The shadows were gone from under her eyes, and despite the fact that she hadn’t been eating that much, she had clearly put on a little weight.

  She appeared for breakfast one morning without an announcement after Giles and Sabrina had seated themselves.

  “Clare!” exclaimed Sabrina, who saw her first. “Should you be up?”

  Clare laughed. “After all this time, I certainly hope so, Sabrina. I feel very well. And I wasn’t really sick, you know. I don’t know what came over me, but I needed to rest.”

  “I guess so,” said Giles with a teasing smile. “It is wonderful to see you up, Lady Whitton. Will you join us for breakfast?”

  “I am quite ravenous,” Clare admitted.

  Giles gestured to a footman to fill her plate and watched happily as she ate almost everything on it.

  “Do you have special plans for today, Giles?" Clare asked, after setting her fork down and looking at her almost empty plate in surprise.

  Giles had planned to ride over to the northwest corner of the estate to confer with one of their tenants, but immediately decided that the errand could wait for a day or two. So he said, “No, not really. Although it is a lovely day for a ride. Do you care to join me?”

  Clare smiled over at him. “I was hoping I could, Giles. Sabrina,” she added, turning to his sister. “Will you join us?”

  Sabrina had seen the eager look in her brother’s eyes and shook her head. “Unfortunately I am committed elsewhere. I promised I would help the housekeeper in the stillroom.”