by Mary Balogh
“I am afraid I frightened Miss Simpson on the way home from the Courtneys’ just now,” he said. “The roadway down the hill opposite is very steep. I told her not to worry if the carriage slid a little in the mud. The coachman had been with Edmund for almost a year without having an accident. The one before him lasted only six months.”
“And I suppose the road is quite safe?” Ellen said.
“Oh, assuredly.” He grinned. “And the coachman was my father’s before he was Edmund’s. But she is made of stern stuff, your stepdaughter. I felt sorry for the deception when she only turned white and clung to the strap and did not scream at all.”
“Wretch!” Ellen said, laughing despite herself. “I hope she ripped up at you when she realized the truth.”
“She was so brave,” he said, “that I did not have the heart to tell her.”
There was an awkward little silence after they had both laughed again, and Ellen dipped her head to her embroidery.
“Ellen,” he said, “I think we should marry.”
She looked up at him, her needle suspended in the air.
“I know that you are not even halfway through your mourning period yet,” he said. “I know that you loved Charlie and still love him and always will. And I know that you are able and willing to take care of this child on your own, Ellen. But even so, it will be an illegitimate child. You have chosen not to try to give it the respectability of Charlie’s name. Let it have my name, then. Marry me. Will you?”
“No, Dominic,” she said. “No, it would not be right.”
“Why not?” he asked. He stooped down in front of her so that he could look into her face. “It seems to me the only right thing to do.”
“I have been married once,” she said. “It was a good marriage. We loved each other. I couldn’t contemplate a loveless marriage.”
He winced slightly. “I know you don’t love me,” he said. “I would not expect that, Ellen. But listen to me. There are three of us here, not just two. I can get up and walk away from you and live the life of my choice. You can leave this place and go to your father or find yourself a place in the country and live the life of your choice. But there is someone else who has no choices. Someone who will go through life with the label of bastard. Do you want that?”
“I will use my free choice to love the child every moment for the rest of my life,” she said. Her eyes were on his hands, which held her wrists so that she could no longer sew.
“It won’t be enough, Ellen,” he said. “And all the money and superior schooling I will be able to offer will not alter the fact that in the eyes of the world the child will be my by-blow.”
She closed her eyes.
“Marry me, Ellen,” he said. “If you love our child, marry me.”
“We will grow to hate each other,” she said. “There is only one good reason for marriage, Dominic, and in our case it does not exist.”
“Then we must make the best of what we have,” he said. “We don’t hate each other now, Ellen. We like each other. You admitted that to me just the other day. And we both want the best for the child we have created together. There is no reason why we cannot have a perfectly contented marriage.”
She bit her lower lip and looked at him, shaking her head. “This is all wrong, Dominic,” she said. “It does not feel right.”
“Then we’ll make it right,” he said. His hands had moved from her wrists to clasp her own hands tightly. “Say yes, Ellen. It’s the only decent thing we can do.”
She clung to his hands and looked into his green eyes, fixed anxiously on her own. And felt trapped. She had had very little choice the first time, except to throw herself on the charity of Charlie’s sister in London. So she had begged him to marry her. Now she had even less choice. She must make the baby her main consideration, and that left her with no personal choice at all.
Two forced marriages. The only difference was that the first time she had known that Charlie loved her, that she had a chance of making him happy and therefore of making herself happy too. This time she was being married entirely out of a sense of duty to a person who was only a part of her at the moment, but not really her at all.
He did not know the stresses and strains of marriage. Her love for him would become a hopeless thing and would sour and die. Her love would become a chain about his neck, and he would fight it and come to hate her.
And their child would be caught in the middle, as she had been caught between the jealousies and hatreds of her own parents. And yet without marriage, the child would be called bastard, would never be quite respectable.
There was really no choice at all.
“Yes, then,” she said. “I’ll marry you, Dominic.”
He squeezed her hands so hard they hurt. “You won’t be sorry,” he said, lifting one of those hands to his lips. “I’ll see to it that you will never be sorry, Ellen. Shall I make the announcement tonight?”
“No.” She pulled her hands from his and rose to her feet. She turned away from him. “No, not today. Jennifer doesn’t know yet. I…I haven’t found the right moment to tell her. Give me a few days.”
He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “As many days as you want,” he said. “Don’t feel rushed. And, Ellen, don’t be unhappy. I don’t want to see you unhappy. It will work out for the best, you will see.”
She turned toward him, a determined smile on her face. “For a newly betrothed couple,” she said, “we are being rather gloomy, aren’t we? We must try to be fond of each other, Dominic. And to share with each other. I have felt the baby move in the last few days. I don’t think it is imagination. I have felt it more than once.”
“Have you?” His eyes widened and looked deeply into hers. And he smiled, a warm, joyful smile that lit up his whole face.
She nodded.
ON THE THIRD DAY, not only had the mist lifted and the rain stopped, but the clouds had moved off altogether and the sun shone. A brisk, fresh breeze brought with it the salt smell of the sea.
Jennifer wandered out onto the terrace after luncheon, impatient for the arrival of Anna and the others from the Carrington house and Miles Courtney from the other direction. When they came, they would all be able to leave for the long-promised ride to the beach and climb to the clifftop.
Lieutenant Penworth was standing on the terrace, propped up on his crutches.
“What are you planning to do this afternoon?” she asked.
“Paint,” he said, “or play the pianoforte or read. My choices are myriad.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was a perfectly civil question.”
He looked across at her and away again. “I am going to wait until you all leave,” he said, “and go to the stables to have the fastest horse left there saddled. Perhaps I will not even wait for it to be saddled. And I am going to ride up the hillside and gallop out onto the cliffs.”
“I said I’m sorry,” she said. “Was my question tactless? But one cannot forever be tiptoeing around you, you know. I am sorry that you cannot ride and walk with us, but the fact is that you cannot. So am I to pretend that I am not going to be doing those things? Am I to pretend that I am not looking forward to them? Am I to pretend afterward that I did not really enjoy myself? That would be nonsense, and you would know that I was patronizing you, and you would be even more annoyed than you are now.”
He grinned suddenly and quite unexpectedly. “Little spitfire!” he said. “You remind me of one of my sisters. Never a day passed without our having a good fight.”
“She has my profoundest sympathies,” Jennifer said.
“I will say one thing,” he said. “After I have had the pleasure of conversing with you, I invariably feel angry enough to throw things. And on the whole, I think that is better than the mild irritability I feel with most other people.”
“Madeline should be made into a saint,” she said, “for putting up with you. I would certainly never do so.”
“Ah,” he said, “but you have n
ever been asked to.”
“That was such a glorious set-down,” she said, “that I will not even try to cap it, sir. I see that the Carringtons and Lord Agerton are on the way. I am going to enjoy myself. Good day to you.”
LORD EDEN RODE at the head of the group with Anna. He had been somewhat amused to notice her maneuvering to have him as a partner. And yet not entirely amused. She was no longer a little girl to be indulged by an older cousin whom she had chosen to make her hero.
Besides, he was a betrothed man. Soon to be a married man and a father. It amazed him that he had been able to live through almost twenty-four hours without blurting his secret to Edmund or to Madeline. Or to someone. He felt distinctly like a child with a precious new toy.
It didn’t matter that she did not love him, that she had agreed to marry him only because he had convinced her that their child would suffer if she did not. The fact was that she had agreed to marry him. She was his betrothed. He would bring her to love him by very slow degrees after they were married. In such a way that she would not feel threatened, that she would not feel disloyal to her memories of her first husband.
And in the meantime he would withhold the truth from her. She would never marry him if she suspected that his feelings for her were as powerful as they had been during that week when they had been lovers. A sense of honor would make her draw back.
But no matter. On such a day and in such surroundings, one could feel boundless optimism.
“And Papa keeps saying no, but all the time he winks at Mama,” Anna was saying, “so I know he means yes. Oh, it will be so splendid next year, Dominic. I will not be overawed as I was this year, and I will already know a few people. And you will be there, and everyone will see me with the most handsome gentleman in London. You will be there, won’t you? You really must come.”
He smiled at her. “I plan to become lord of my own manor immediately after Christmas,” he said. “I may well be enjoying myself so much that I will decide to rusticate, Anna. I really can’t promise anything.”
“Oh,” she said, “you could not possibly be so horrid. After you were away all last spring. You know I have had my heart set on it forever, Dominic. Tell me you are only teasing me.”
“I wonder,” he said, “if your riding skills have improved since I rode with you last. Do you think you can race me to the beach?”
“You are about to play your usual trick of galloping off while I am still replying, aren’t you?” she cried, and she shrieked and dug her spurs into her horse’s sides.
Lord Eden grinned and watched her go for a few seconds before going in pursuit of her.
“He will overtake her, poor girl,” the countess said to Ellen. “No one in living memory has ever raced Dominic on horseback. I was foolish enough to try the first time I rode down onto the beach. He was at the appointed rock and dismounted already before I came up to him. It was a dreadful humiliation.” She laughed.
Lord Eden stopped when grass gave way to sand. He reached up to lift his cousin down.
“Anna,” he said, “while we have some privacy, my dear, we need to have a little talk.”
“Oh, dear,” she said. “And you have that serious look. I can guess about what.”
“Can you?” he said. “You are my cousin, dear. I am very proud of your beauty and your vivacity. I have been delighted to hear of the success of your first Season, and not at all surprised. And I am very, very fond of you.”
She grimaced.
“And that is all, Anna.” He kept his voice firm, though his eyes looked gently enough down at her.
“I know that,” she said. “I have always known that, Dominic. But old dreams are sometimes hard to let go of.”
“Some young man is going to be very fortunate,” he said.
She pulled a face. “I had one offer in the spring,” she said.
He smiled. “Did you? You did not reject him on account of me, I hope.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I found him stuffy.”
“Then he certainly would not do,” he said.
“Don’t make fun of me, Dominic,” she said. “I am not a child. I know I frequently behave like one, but I don’t feel like a child. And I can be hurt.”
He brushed one finger beneath her chin. “I was not making fun,” he said. “Whoever you choose, Anna, will have to be very special. I absolutely insist on it. Because you are very special. A ray of sunshine, no less. And I know that you are not a child and that you can be hurt. If you were still a child, I would probably allow this fantasy to continue. And if I did not know you could be hurt, I would not have challenged you to this race so that I might talk privately with you. I don’t want you hurt, Anna. This must end now. Understood?”
She sighed and peeped up at him, rather shamefaced. “Yes,” she said. “Just assure me of one thing, Dominic. You are not going to marry Susan, are you?”
“Susan?” he said. “Good Lord, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“She did,” she said. “She is always telling Jennifer and Mrs. Simpson how you used to love her and how she broke your heart by marrying Lieutenant Jennings. And you were kissing her on the hill the other day, were you not?”
“Good Lord!” he said. “No, I was not. And no, I am not about to marry Susan, Anna. I can even make that a promise, if it will make you feel better.”
“It will,” she said.
“I promise, then,” he said. “Now, let’s tether these horses so that the stablehands who come to fetch them afterward will not have to search over miles of country to find them. And here come the others.”
They all left their horses and walked across the beach for about a mile to a large black rock that was almost directly at the foot of the narrow pathway that snaked its way up the almost sheer face of the high cliffs.
They were fortunate that the tide had only just started to come in, Lord Amberley explained to Ellen, taking her arm through his. If it were right in, there would be no climbing, as the water came right up to the cliffs.
“Has anyone ever been cut off by the tide?” she asked.
“Perry and I once as lads,” he said. “We sat on top of the black rock and dared each other to be the first to leave. By the time each of us realized that the other was just not going to give in, the water was swirling about the base of the rock. Fortunately, it never does reach to the top. Those were long and cold hours while we were there.”
“Your parents must have been worried,” she said.
“They saw us from the top of the cliffs,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Unfortunately we could see them too, and a knowledge of how much less comfortable we would feel when our fathers’ hands got to us did nothing to make the hours pass more pleasantly.”
“I suppose you never did it again,” she said.
“I can remember having to lie facedown on my bed for at least an hour after my father had finished with me,” he said. “No, we did not do it again. We were very inventive, Perry and I. We always found new mischief to get ourselves into.”
They both chuckled.
“Will your memories make you a more indulgent parent?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said. “I promised Alex before our marriage that I would never lay a violent hand on any children of ours. And I won’t. But I am sure I will think of some other perfectly satisfactory punishments. And I will need them. I already recognize the occasional gleam in my son’s eyes.”
“Oh,” Jennifer said when they reached the rock and she gazed up the cliff that towered over them. “We are going up there? Is it possible?”
“You have to cling to the rock by your teeth in places,” Walter said. “But it is possible. It is not for the fainthearted, though.”
“Well,” she said, “my teeth are as strong as the next person’s, I suppose.”
“I’ll scramble up this first cluster of rocks, then,” he said, “and haul you up after. Once you are up on the path, it is just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and not fr
eezing when you are halfway up.”
“You are a wonderful builder of confidence,” she said, setting her hands on her hips and watching him climb up the first few feet, which the tides had worn sheer and smooth.
“It is really not as bad as it looks,” the countess said reassuringly. “The path widens as you get higher, and is really quite firm underfoot.”
“You may wish to avoid looking down,” the earl said.
“Here you are, then,” Walter said, kneeling on the path and reaching down a hand for Jennifer’s. “You must keep hold of my hand when you are up here.”
Madeline and Lord Agerton, Anna and Miles followed them up.
“You had better go up to see that they all behave themselves,” the countess said to her husband, drawing a grin from him in response. “Mrs. Simpson and I are going to walk on the beach.”
“Oh, I do wish I could go up too,” Ellen said. “This sea air is marvelous. And the view must be lovely from up there.”
“We will drive up there tomorrow,” the countess said.
Lord Eden smiled down into Ellen’s wistful face. “Do you want to go now?” he asked. “We can take it very slowly. We do not have to keep up to the others.”
“Dominic!” Lady Amberley said.
“Oh, I would love to,” Ellen said. “Do you think I might?”
The countess looked appealingly to her husband. He merely raised his eyebrows to her.
“We’ll stop every few feet for you to rest,” Lord Eden said. “And you needn’t look so cross with us both, Alexandra. This is a lady who has tramped and ridden through mud and searing heat, and forded swollen rivers and crossed the Pyrenees Mountains into France. Ellen is no wilting flower.”
“But she has never been pregnant before,” his sister-in-law said.
“Alex.” The earl held out a hand for hers. “You are merely trying to avoid having to make the climb yourself, aren’t you? There has been too much of London and soft living for you, my girl. Come here and I’ll lift you up. We’ll allow Dominic and Mrs. Simpson to come at their own speed behind us. We will take the gigs home when we get to the top, Dominic, and send one back for you.”