by Liz Fielding
The relief that rippled through her limbs made her temporarily weak. Betrayed her. She had to get out of the library, away from Harry and she stumbled to her feet as he pulled back her chair, desperate to escape to the safety of her room.
‘Faith? I’m sorry—’ He reached out to steady her, then swore softly as she tensed at his touch, at the thrill of longing rippling through her body at his touch. ‘No, dammit,’ he said, his eyes darkening. ‘I’m not…’
‘Harry!’ But her protest was too late as his mouth teased across her lips and infinitely tender, infinitely determined, stole away her senses. Stole her level-headed, rational, down-to-earth senses and sent them spinning, tipping, flying like a child’s wooden top. She had no idea how long they had remained in that intoxicating embrace, how long they would have stayed there, hearts beating in unison, if he had not drawn back, so that without warning, without her even knowing how it had happened, she was a foot away from him, her trembling body held upright only by his hands grasping her shoulders and she was staring, confused and uncertain into Harry’s shadowed face.
‘Some counter,’ he said, his voice a harsh drawl that mocked them both. Heat suffused her cheeks as, furiously, Faith opened her mouth to refute that brazen statement, deny it with her last breath. Then she snapped it shut. Just in case he should decide to take her into his arms and prove his point beyond any doubt.
‘I should have slapped you.’
‘Perhaps you should ask yourself why you didn’t.’ His grasp tightened slightly, his fingers biting into her shoulders.
‘It’s not too late,’ she warned.
‘Yes it is, darling. Far too late.’ And he laughed softly as he released her and quite deliberately stood back to let her by.
For a moment she came close to proving just how wrong he could be but common sense, prompted by a suspicion of amusement in those dark blue eyes, asserted itself just in time and she clenched her hands tightly to keep them from doing anything stupid. ‘Goodnight, Harry,’ she said, sweeping by him with as much dignity as she could gather around her.
‘Goodnight Faith. Sweet dreams.’
‘I never dream,’ she said.
‘Maybe you’ve never had anything worth dreaming about.’
* * *
Faith woke suddenly from a restless, uncomfortable sleep, one moment wrestling hopelessly with some undefined problem, the next totally awake and listening, knowing that something had disturbed her but uncertain of the cause. Then the noise was repeated. Harry’s little box of tricks was letting her know that Ben was awake and unhappy. She sighed and sat up, pushing her hair back from her face before swinging her feet to the floor.
A light had been left burning in the hall and shivering slightly in the cool night air, she padded along to the children’s room. Alice hadn’t stirred, but Ben was wet and fed up and he didn’t care who knew about it.
He stopped crying when she picked him up and looked at her, his eyes not quite focussed, his head a little wobbly. ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ she crooned to him, her cheek resting lightly on his downy head, crooning softly to him as nestled against her shoulder.
A movement caught her eye and she turned. Harry, a silk dressing gown thrown about him, was watching her from the doorway. Their eyes met briefly and for a moment Faith thought he was about to say something, then his jaw clamped tight and he turned and walked away without a word.
CHAPTER SIX
AS they approached the bridal shop the following morning, Alice tugged at Faith’s hand and pointed to a frilly concoction in candyfloss pink net in the corner of the window. ‘That one, Faith!’ she declared, fervently. ‘Can I have that one?’
Faith didn’t dare look at Harry. He had not mentioned their silent night time encounter, had been in an odd mood ever since their paths had crossed in the kitchen not long after six. Maybe he had been looking forward to another display of the red silk pyjamas, although she noticed that he had pulled on his jogging pants before making his own appearance. But she had taken care to dress before she ventured from her room.
‘I could take Alice into Melchester,’ she offered, more in hope than expectation. ‘If you would look after Ben.’
‘And miss all the fun?’
And that had been that. She assumed that he intended to encourage his niece in her outrageous taste in frocks. But he made no comment on Alice’s choice.
‘Why don’t you wait and try some on before you decide, Alice?’ Faith advised, taking her hand and leading her through the door. ‘They’ll have heaps more dresses to choose from inside.’
‘You’ll need time to choose your own dress,’ Harry reminded her, coolly. ‘The missionary will be expecting something virginal and white I imagine?’
She didn’t answer. It was the first indication that he had even remembered their kiss but he couldn’t have made his thoughts plainer. No eager bride-to-be would have reacted as she had and if he hadn’t called a halt—
Her embarrassment was total, as was her shame, redoubling her determination to leave the choice of a wedding dress until she was safely back in London. This morning was going to be devoted entirely to dressing Alice and to that end she hoped the child would be extremely difficult to please. Even tantrums would be welcome and she hoped Ben would scream blue murder. Anything would be preferable to donning white lace for the cynical amusement of Mr Harry March.
The elegant woman who approached them however, was hijacked by Harry. All it took was a smile and she was putty in his hands. Faith knew the feeling and sympathised. ‘We’re looking for a dress for Alice.’
‘That’s me,’ Alice said, just to make sure the lady understood. ‘I’m going to be a flower girl and I like the pink dress in the window,’ she added with determination.
The sales woman caught the slight shake of Faith’s head. ‘Are there any other attendants?’ she asked.
‘The adult bridesmaids are wearing ivory and green,’ Faith said, gratefully. ‘Like that,’ she said, spotting a dress similar to the one in the photograph that Debbie had sent her.
‘Ah yes. They’ve been very popular this year.’ Faith could not resist throwing Harry a sideways look before bending over the buggy to wipe away a dribble from Ben’s mouth. ‘And the bride? Is her dress ivory, too?’
‘She’ll be choosing her dress today,’ Harry replied, with nerve-wracking determination.
Startled, the woman turned to Faith. ‘Madam is the bride?’
‘Madam is the bride,’ Harry said and then turned to her. ‘Would ivory be appropriate, Faith? For a clergyman’s daughter?’
She favoured him with a withering glance, but infuriatingly he refused to be withered so she turned her attention to Alice. ‘Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time, shall we?’
Alice, faced with a selection of the most beribboned and frilled dresses she had ever seen was in seventh heaven as she paraded for them in a delicate array of satin and lace. The three of them finally decided upon an enchanting cream voile dress scattered with tiny peach silk rose buds. Satin slippers, fine matching tights and a tiny circle of peach silk rose buds for her dark hair completed the ensemble and were borne away by a junior to be packed. It had been easy. Too easy she realised as Harry turned to her.
‘Now it’s your turn, Faith.’
‘No. It’ll take ages and the children are getting fractious.’ She glanced at Ben who lay fast asleep in his buggy. No help from that quarter.
‘It won’t take any time at all,’ Harry said, smiling with the confidence of a man who knows he has won. He nodded to a gown on display. ‘I’ve already decided on that one.’
‘You’ve what!’
The saleswoman cleared her throat. ‘The groom really shouldn’t see the dress before the wedding,’ she said. ‘It’s considered unlucky.’
‘That’s all right,’ Harry replied. ‘Faith isn’t superstitious. Are you darling?’
Faith glared at him. ‘Since you aren’t the groom it wouldn’t matter even if I w
ere,’ she retaliated, before following the saleswoman who was all blushing apology as she led the way to the display of gowns.
‘I’m so sorry—’
‘I’m not. Not in the least bit sorry,’ said Faith, with more force than was entirely necessary and drew a curious look from the woman. She turned away quickly to look at the dress Harry had picked. It was a strapless extravagance with a tiny lace bodice, a fishtail train and a gold sash.
‘It is lovely, isn’t it? Your...um…friend has an excellent eye. It really would suit you.’
The dress was beautiful, with simple elegant lines that emphasized the richness of the fabric. Under different circumstances she would have tried it on without a murmur, but she wasn’t giving Harry the satisfaction of trying on something he had chosen. He was having quite enough amusement at her expense already.
‘We can make a green sash to match your bridesmaids’ dresses,’ the woman said.
‘I’m looking for something more traditional,’ Faith said, before the woman could get into her stride, turning towards a demure gown with a portrait collar. ‘Something simple—’
‘I thought you already had that,’ Harry murmured and she turned, the slightest frown creasing her brow. ‘Julian Fellowes?’
‘Why don’t you do something useful, Harry, like taking Alice to buy her the red pyjamas you promised for her birthday?’
Alice, blessed child, didn’t need prompting twice to set up a clamour and Faith breathed a sigh of relief as they left the store, leaving Ben in the adoring charge of one of the assistants. ‘I’m looking for something less revealing,’ she explained, but the portrait collar made her look far too much like the bride of some nineteenth century missionary and she knew Harry wouldn’t hesitate to say so. Not that it was any of his business. But none of the other dresses she tried on pleased her. ‘I think I’d better leave it,’ she said, as she stared unhappily at her reflection. ‘I don’t think I’m in the mood to buy a wedding dress.’
But the saleswoman wasn’t about to lose a valuable customer. ‘Why not try something completely different?’ she suggested.
Faith, who would have done anything to get out of the shop, agreed with the proviso that it would have to be the last one. ‘The children will be fretting for their lunch,’ she explained.
‘Your friend isn’t back yet. Look, let me bring you some underwear first. The dress I have in mind needs something strapless underneath it.’ Not that the delicate lace basque she produced could be described as mere underwear Faith decided, regarding her reflection in the mirror. The lace looked as virginal as any groom might have wished. The effect was anything but. Then the dress Harry had chosen was carried in by an assistant.
‘Oh, no—’ Faith began. The woman simply smiled and waited. It was beautiful. Stupid not to try it just because Harry had chosen it and if she was quick he need never know. Unless he brought Alice to the wedding, her subconscious pointed out. But he wouldn’t. His sister would be back from America and she would bring Alice. And anyway, her objections were academic.
The minute the gown was settled over her head and the tiny buttons fastened into place down the back, she knew it was the one.
‘It could have been made for you,’ the saleswoman said as she stood up from straightening the train and admired her handiwork. ‘Like something from a fairy tale.’
‘If you believed in fairy tales…’
She and Michael had been pure fairy tale. She had worshipped him as a gawky teenager, lived for the holidays when he came home from university in a nightmare of anxiety. Would he bring a girl home? Would he even notice her existence? Then suddenly she had been free of braces, had developed the necessary curves and he had finally noticed her. More than noticed her.
She had believed in fairy tales then and bought a snow white dress bedecked with as many frills as could be wished for...
She and Julian had nothing to do with such nonsense. He’d suggested a simple register office ceremony and she would have preferred it herself after the trauma of being jilted by Michael, but the dress, the church were all part of the deal when your father was a clergyman. She knew Julian would understand.
‘It’s a bit too long,’ she said, her throat thick. It seemed necessary to find some fault, some reason to reject perfection.
‘Maybe an inch. Easily fixed. I’ll pin it for you.’ The woman swept back the curtain and suddenly Faith was standing in full view of the sales room.
Ben was asleep in his buggy. Alice was “helping” one of the younger assistants. Harry was sitting on a small gilt chair, tipping it back, eyes half closed apparently in boredom. At the swish of the curtain, the whisper of silk, his chair dropped back to the carpet and he looked up. Then he rose to his feet and for a long time it seemed to Faith that the room was intensely quiet.
Then he nodded. ‘You’re quite right, Faith,’ he said, very softly after an age during which his eyes had devoured her slightly flushed cheeks, her shoulders, the soft swell of a bosom that rose and fell a little too rapidly. ‘That dress is far too good to waste on a man who counts penguins for a living.’
That hurt. Only the sudden loss of colour from her cheeks betrayed how much it hurt as Faith met his unwavering stare head on. ‘But the dress was your choice, Harry,’ she retaliated. ‘I thought you would be pleased.’ She glanced down at the woman who was now on her knees preparing to pin the hem. ‘Will it take long to have it altered? The wedding is in three weeks.’
‘Only a day or two. It’s not a busy time of year.’ She glanced up, saw the look that passed like daggers between the bride and the man she was not going to marry. ‘What kind of heels are you wearing?’ she asked, hurriedly.
‘Heels?’
‘You’re quite tall and with a headdress… Will you be wearing high heels?’
Faith glanced down at the woman’s upturned face. ‘Oh. No…’ Harry made a small disgusted noise which she ignored. ‘I’m not very comfortable in high heels,’ she added, firmly, almost believing it. The truth was that Julian was only a couple of inches taller than she was. If she had been marrying Harry it would have been different. She could have got away with stilts. She caught herself. What on earth was she thinking about? Harry had already jilted one woman. She’d been there. Knew the pain. He was the last man on earth... ‘Perhaps I should try some on while I’m wearing the dress?’ She forced a smile to her lips. ‘You don’t mind do you Harry? I might as well buy everything at the same time. In fact I’d be glad of your help, since you have such good taste.’
‘Please, take all the time you need,’ he replied, with the grace of a man who knows he has had his bluff called, but is confident that he will be able to exact retribution in his own good time. Faith told herself that she didn’t care. Sarah Downes would be firmly in charge of the nursery by teatime and she would be safely in London by nightfall. Harry March could do his worst, but she would exact payment in advance.
She took her time, choosing shoes, then a tiny pearl tiara, deciding against a veil, and each time she turned to Harry, demanding his approval, taking perverse pleasure in the fact that his temper seemed to deteriorate with every purchase.
‘I think that’s everything,’ she said, when she thought that Harry had learned his lesson and had been kept waiting long enough. She should have known better.
‘Aren’t you going to choose the rest of your trousseau?’ he asked. ‘This store has some of the most beautiful lingerie I’ve ever seen.’
‘And I’m sure you’ve seen plenty in your time,’ she muttered, under her breath.
‘I’ve had my moments,’ he replied, reminding her that his hearing was as acute as his mind. ‘What about this?’ he asked, taking a suspender belt, the barest scrap of white lace, from a display and offering for her inspection. ‘I’m quite certain that Fellowes would really like this.’
‘You have no idea what Julian would like.’ He didn’t bother to argue. He simply twanged the suspender, leaving his eyes to do all the talking.
His eyes gleamed. ‘Wear something like this and I’m sure Julian could be persuaded to forget all about penguins.’ This was a scrap of lace that might have been a pair of pants. Well, no, hardly a pair. ‘Or this?’ He held a slinky black satin nightgown against her, the knuckles of his hand grazing her throat.
But for Faith the joke had worn so thin that she could see through it. ‘Black’s a little obvious isn’t it?’ she asked, jerking away from the touch of smooth silky cloth that raised gooseflesh on her skin. From the hard touch of his knuckles against her throat.
‘I don’t think you could be obvious if you tried.’ His mouth twisted in a provocative little smile. ‘But they have it in red if you prefer. That is your preferred colour for nightwear?’
‘In red?’ Something snapped inside her and she turned to the saleswoman. ‘I’ll take them both.’
‘There are matching wraps,’ the woman urged, sensing a crackle in the atmosphere that could only be good for business.
‘I’ll take them as well,’ Faith said, without hesitation. Turning back to the rack her eyes swept along it in search of inspiration. It was provided by a black satin teddy. ‘What about this, Harry?’ she asked, holding it up against herself. ‘Do you think this is obvious?’ She didn’t wait for his reply but moved along the rows of deliciously lace encrusted lingerie, choosing the slinkiest, the sexiest pieces she could find. French knickers, teddies, thongs. It was reckless, it was stupid but worth it just to see the look on Harry March’s face as she turned to him with a filmy black lace basque. ‘Well, Harry?’ she demanded. He didn’t answer. ‘Come along, don’t be shy. Give me the benefit of all your worldly experience. How do you think this will go down on the honeymoon?’
‘Do you really want to know what I think?’ Harry’s eyes had lost the teasing sparkle that had driven her over the edge. They were dark now, slatey dark and angry.