by Jane Peart
Taking her seat, Noramary arranged her voluminous skirts. Her headdress and veil required her to sit well forward, holding her head erect, William sagged heavily into the luxurious upholstered seat opposite, beaming at her encouragingly.
“Well, my dear, so we’re on our way.”
Noramary could think of no reply. She merely smiled politely and looked out the small window at the gray morning, hearing the sound of the clopping hooves on the cobblestone street. “On our way,” Uncle William had said. But in truth, it was only Noramary who was on her way—to marry a man who was still little more than a stranger, on her way to an unknown future.
Her hands were icy under the lace mitts, yet the palms were clammy as she gripped the holder of the starched ruffle surrounding the bouquet of white roses and mignonette. She stared without really seeing as they traveled down the familiar streets, passed the houses of friends, and at length turned into the courtyard of the mellow-brick church where she had worshiped ever since coming to Virginia.
The horses came to a halt with a jangle of harnesses, and Noramary felt the movement of the carriage as the coachman jumped down from his place and, a moment later, opened the door for them.
“So here we are, my dear.” Uncle William’s voice nudged her gently.
Noramary started. She slowly came out of her numbed abstraction. She turned wide, frightened eyes on her uncle, but he did not see the panic in them for he was already exiting the coach. He stood at the door, offering her his hand. Hesitating only a split-second, Noramary carefully stepped down.
For just a moment she rearranged the wide panniers of her gown, adjusting her headdress with her free hand as Uncle William fumbled with her tulle veil. It was then that Noramary became conscious of a movement in the grove of trees at the side of the church.
Instinctively she turned her head, in time to see a figure, half obscured behind a flowering shrub, duck out of sight. It was so fleeting that she was not sure at first she had even seen anything. Then she knew! She had recognized the swift, graceful stride. Robert! Here? Had he come to the wedding?
Noramary trembled. A faint, giddy feeling swept over her. Drawing a ragged breath she turned toward the place she had seen the darting figure. But there was no one in sight.
By now the mist had turned into a fine rain, and she felt Uncle William’s hand under her elbow urging her forward.
“Come, my dear, it’s starting to rain. We don’t want your lovely gown to be ruined. Come along then.”
Like an automaton, Noramary put her hand through his arm and leaned on him to steady herself as they walked toward the entrance of the church, past the shadowy clump of trees. Noramary’s face, hidden by the gauzy veil, was tense, its sad expression unseen.
From the moment they entered the hushed vestibule, Noramary moved as in a trance. She felt detached, remote, removed from the crowd of well-wishers, yet keenly aware of everything about her.
Moving slowly down the aisle toward the tall man standing at the altar, Noramary was strangely conscious of the rustle of her taffeta petticoats, the squeak of Uncle William’s new leather shoes, the guests in the pews they passed, the scent of flowers and candlewax.
Through a haze she saw the smiling faces of her cousins, who had proceeded her to the altar and now faced forward awaiting her arrival. The little girls with their flower baskets; Laura, in a posture of unaccustomed dignity, ready to relieve Noramary of her bouquet after she reached the chancel rail.
Above all, Noramary was aware of Duncan Montrose— looking distinguished and handsome in a nutmeg brown velvet coat, creamy vest, ruffled jabot. When he turned toward her as they halted at the altar steps, his eyes held a new expression, something she had failed to see there before. Could she define it, it might have been—worshipful? No, that couldn’t be, she thought, though she could think of no other suitable word. But there was no more time to ponder, for the minister began to speak.
Noramary did not glance at Duncan again, although she was very aware of him standing beside her as they took their places. She never raised her eyes from the starched surplice the Reverend Mr. Hewlitt was wearing. She stared straight ahead as he began the ceremony. The words struck deeply into her uneasy conscience. Desperately she tried to forget that fleeting glimpse of the figure in the churchyard, to concentrate on the minister’s words, to pray God to still her confusion, calm her errant heart.
“You are about to enter into an estate that is most sacred, and so should not be entered into rashly or ill-advisedly, or without the full acknowledgment of both its sacrifices and its blessings.”
Everything grew hazy to Noramary—the white flowers and flickering flames of the tapers on the altar, the drone of the minister’s voice. Then he came to that part of the ritual she had been most dreading and his voice took on a deeper tone.
“If anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy wedlock, let him now speak, or, as he will answer on the dreadful day of judgment… forever hold his peace.”
I do, thought Noramary, horror-stricken, as a breathless sort of hush fell over the congregation following the Reverend Hewlitt’s words. I know why we should not marry, for I love someone else.… Dear God, is it a sin to marry someone you don’t really love… for whatever reason?
Noramary swayed slightly, her knees threatening to buckle under her. Immediately she felt Duncan steady her with his firm hand.
The moment after the minister had uttered this solemn question seemed to lengthen interminably. Noramary did not move or breathe. What if Robert is here, in this sanctuary? What if he should come forward, speak, deny the truth of my vows? Noramary’s thoughts collided tumultuously as the agony of waiting stretched endlessly in the too-quiet church.
“Duncan Montrose, will you have this woman to be your lawful wedded wife—to love, honor, protect, cherish her…”
Duncan’s answer rang out with strength and conviction. “I will.”
Then the minister was speaking directly to Noramary. “Will you, Eleanor Mary Marsh, take this man for your lawful wedded husband… from this day forward…”
Her throat was dry, and she had to swallow before she could respond, “I will,” her voice barely more than a whisper in contrast to Duncan’s clear response to the same pledge.
“The ring, sir, if you please,” he directed Duncan, then to Noramary, “Place your hand in Duncan’s, Noramary. Now… sir, as you place the ring on your bride’s finger, repeat after me—”
Duncan’s voice came steady and sure. “With this ring I thee wed, and plight unto thee my troth, and with all my worldly goods do thee endow…”
“Bless this ring, O Lord,” the Reverend Hewlitt was saying, “that she who shall wear it, keeping faith unchanged with her husband, may abide in peace and obedience and live in mutual respect and love.”
The minister now concluded the service as he covered their clasped hands with his and intoned solemnly, “If you undertake to live the pledges you have taken today one for the other, and have made them with pure intentions, true love, and right spirit, you may expect the greatest measure of earthly happiness allotted man in this vale of tears. The rest is in the hands of God.”
chapter
8
AT THE SECOND CRASH of thunder the horses reared, whinnying in fear, and the carriage swayed precariously. Inside, Noramary looked over at her new husband as she clung to the swinging handpull to keep from falling against him. His profile was sharply defined by the intermittent flashes of lightning that slashed the blackness of the night. In that brief bit of illumination she could see the stern, almost angry set of his features.
Noramary shrank back into the corner, shivering, and drew the velvet hooded cloak more closely about her. Duncan turned, aware of her movement.
“You’re cold, aren’t you?” It was more statement than question. He quickly removed his greatcoat and put it over her lap, tucking it around her feet. “I’m very sorry about this, Noramary. We should have stayed at the Camerons as Jacqueline
requested, but I was too anxious to reach Montclair. I wanted us to spend our first night together under our own roof. I apologize for my rashness.”
Noramary sensed that Duncan was a man to whom apologies and the admission of poor judgment did not come easily and murmured, “It’s not your fault… the storm…”
“Yes, but I should have known these storms at this time of year can be treacherous. I blame myself,” he said brusquely.
It had been raining steadily ever since their departure from Williamsburg late in the afternoon, and now the downpour had turned the rough country roads into rivers of mud. Duncan had been forced to leave the carriage several times already to help the footman push the wheels through the thick, oozing stuff.
Noramary huddled miserably in her corner. The relentless swaying of the carriage had aggravated a nagging headache that had begun soon after they left Williamsburg. It had probably been brought on by fatigue and hunger, for she had slept poorly the night before and had only picked at the sumptuous buffet hosted by the Camerons. After the toasting and the farewells, she had rushed to change into her traveling clothes because Duncan was adamant they get started on the long trip ahead.
Perhaps adding to her discomfort was the growing sensation of homesickness as each jolting mile carried her farther from everything dear and familiar. Noramary was transported back in time to another separation, another beginning when, as a frightened child, she had traveled alone to her new home in Virginia. She felt much the same now, except this time there was an added inexplicable sense of foreboding.
Stinging tears welled up in her eyes as Noramary pictured the warm, cozy parlor at the Barnwell home, where she had spent so many happy evenings, and a painful lump rose in her throat. When would she ever see them again?
She remembered when she confessed to Aunt Betsy how unsure she felt about marrying Duncan, and her aunt had held her comfortingly, she said, “You must realize, Noramary, that it is much wiser for our heads to rule our hearts, to accept things as they are. Life, dear child, is full of pain and partings. Love is one thing; life, another altogether. If one is fortunate,” here she had paused, “you may live out your life with someone for whom you feel a passionate affection, but for most of us, life is simply doing one’s duty.” This advice left no doubt that for a girl with no dowry, no inheritance of her own, Noramary must take the course of duty.
With a sudden lurching the carriage came to a standstill. There was some shouting from the coachman and the footman, but their words were not discernible in the howling of the wind.
Duncan swore under his breath. “What the deuce is it now!” he exclaimed opening the door and jumping out.
Noramary, her heart pounding, her whole body aching with weariness, leaned forward and tried to peer out into the driving rain. This journey was taking on a nightmarish quality. The carriage had come to an absolute halt. One side seemed to be slowly tipping, as if the wheels were sinking into the mud. Terrified, she could only make out the three figures of the men moving awkwardly, could hear the muffled sound of their shouts. There was a strong tugging sensation, a sudden, shuddering lurch—then, no movement at all.
They must have unhitched the horses, she thought and, just then, the carriage door was jerked open and Duncan stood there, rain dripping from the corners of his tricorne, his clothing sodden and muddy.
“It seems that it is worse than I thought. I’m sorry my dear, but the creek is flooded just ahead and washed out the foot bridge we have to cross to continue on to Montclair. I’m afraid we are going to have to spend the night elsewhere.”
“Not here!” exclaimed Noramary in dismay.
A slight smile twitched the corners of Duncan’s mouth.
“No. The little cottage I told you about, the one I lived in before the big house was complete, is just this side of the creek. We won’t be able to get the carriage moving tonight. The men will ride the horses to shelter, and I’ll take you on mine. There’s a small barn where we can stable them, with a loft above for the men. We can spend the night in the cottage. It’s quite livable, I assure you.” There was a trace of a smile on his lips as he added, “And as they say—any haven in a storm!”
Duncan reined his horse beside the open door of the carriage and spoke in a calm, even voice. “Just put your foot in my hand. He’ll not move. I’m holding him steady. Now, don’t be afraid,” he directed her.
Noramary lifted her skirts and did as he had bade her, feeling his hand firmly on her waist. She was hardly seated in the saddle when he mounted behind her, fitting his feet expertly into the stirrups.
“I shall keep my arm around you so you will be secure and not lose your balance. Try to relax. My horse knows the way and will take us safely there.”
Galloping through the rain-dark night could have been fraught with terror had not Duncan been such an expert horseman and held Noramary so securely. Just as they reached a latticed shelter, the rain sliced down in sheets. Leaning forward slightly, Noramary saw that they were in front of a small gabled house.
Duncan dismounted, then his hands encircled Noramarys waist and he lifted her down as easily as if she had been a child.
“All right?” he inquired solicitously.
“Of course.” She nodded, but she was shivering and her teeth had begun to chatter, for the rain had penetrated her cloak and she was chilled.
“We’ll be inside in a minute,” said Duncan. Getting out a ring of keys and finding one, he unlocked the door. “Gome, I’ll have a fire going in a minute.”
He held the door open for her to pass before him and Noramary stepped inside. Then he followed her, shutting the door and bolting it against the fierce wind. She stood to one side as Duncan walked through the house, his boots echoing in the empty rooms. She heard the sound of cabinet doors being jerked open, drawers being pulled out, the sound of rummaging as Duncan searched for candles. Then, after a short pause, he reappeared, holding before him two tall candlesticks, shedding a pale, wavery light. He set them on the mantlepiece above a wide, stone fireplace.
While Duncan busied himself laying a fire with logs from a woodbox beside the hearth, and kindling and pine cones from a big basket, Noramary looked around curiously.
So this was the house Duncan had lived in alone for years before moving into the mansion she had yet to see. The walls were paneled and painted blue. The few pieces of furniture were gracefully made and finely crafted. There was a deep wing chair and footstool on one side of the fireplace, a gateleg table and a ladder-back armchair. Patterned draperies were drawn across the windows.
’There,” said Duncan, standing and brushing his hands. The flames had begun to leap and the dry wood crackled as the fire took hold. “The fire should be going well in another few minutes and soon this room should be cozy and warm.” He turned to Noramary. “I’m going out to the barn now to see that the men rub down the horses, and give them oats, and bed down themselves. I shall be back as soon as I can. Will you be all right until then?”
He started to the door again, then stopped abruptly. “Are you hungry? I can find something for us to eat, I’m sure, but—”
“Please. Do whatever you have to do. I can wait until you return.”
He hesitated a moment longer, as if unsure whether to leave her. “I’ll hurry then.” And he was gone.
A gust of cold wind blew in as Duncan went out and Noramary shuddered, not only from the sudden chill but from a kind of nervous reaction. Here she was, still miles from her destination, virtually alone with a man she hardly knew. Another wild thrust of wind flung the rain clattering against the windowpanes, and Noramary moved closer to the fireplace where the roaring flames now sizzled and sputtered.
Her wedding night! Noramary felt a wild urge to laugh. What bride had ever found herself in such bizarre circumstances! But her innate sense of the ridiculous was edged with apprehension. There was really nothing very funny about spending this night in an isolated cottage with a husband who was almost a stranger.
; Noramary moved even closer to the fireplace. As she held out her hands to the fire’s warmth, the light from its flames glinted on the gold band of her new wedding ring.
It felt heavy and unfamiliar on her slender finger. As she twisted it thoughtfully, she remembered a day last summer when Robert had fashioned a ring of buttercups and slipped it on the same finger with a smile. “Someday,” he had promised, “this will be a band of gold uniting us forever!”
How little they had known in those carefree days of summer how soon their dreams would end. Oh, Robert! Robert! Noramary’s heart cried. I thought I would spend my wedding night with you! I imagined we two would explore the mysteries and sweet intimacies of marriage together! I never imagined marriage with a stranger!
chapter
9
THE SOUND OF THE LATCH lifting and the bolt shoved back made Noramary jump. She whirled around as the door was flung wide and, with a chilling blast of rain and wind, Duncan strode back into the room. She was instantly jolted back to reality.
Duncan was her husband now—not Robert. They had taken vows before God and man “for better or for worse until death” parted them. All thoughts of the past and Robert must be put behind her. She straightened her shoulders, wiped away the few tears, and turned to greet him.
As Nanny Oates had darkly predicted when Simon had sent her away at Leatrice’s demand, “Every debt in life must be paid somehow, the cost of everything exacted, in this life or the next.” Would Winnie someday have to pay for what she had done?
Noramary quickly prayed that her cousin was as happy as she had hoped to be. She would not wish anyone remorse. She had been brought up by Aunt Betsy to believe that whatever happened, you made the best of it.
Still, a girl’s wedding night should be… Noramary bit her lip and clasped her suddenly clammy hands together tightly.
“Well, all is well out there!” Duncan said heartily. “Luckily, there’s plenty of hay and the men had stashed some provisions of their own in their pockets,” he laughed, “scavenged from the wedding feast by way of the kitchen maids, I’ll wager.”