Forbidden

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Returning home hadn't made the heartache go away, but at least her mother was a good distraction from it.

  As soon as she ascertained that Mariah wasn't utterly ruined or mortally wounded, she launched into a lecture so lengthy that even Mariah's father intervened.

  Escape had been made only when her mother rounded on her father.

  Mariah had refused absolutely to answer any and all questions about Brandon Haverton, save to say that she had completed her work in the library and she no longer had any reason to be at the house.

  "But your gowns," her mother had argued, a glint of suspicion in her eye.

  "He has promised to send them along," Mariah lied smoothly refusing to explain why she'd left them all there in the first place.

  Now, it was the day of the fete and though Mariah had tried every excuse and reason under the sun not to attend, she was going.

  Her only consolation was that Brandon Haverton was extremely unlikely to go voluntarily and his mother seemed far too sad to insist upon it.

  The family left to walk to the square outside the church where the festivities would take place. As soon as they arrived they were greeted by friends and acquaintances and Mariah used the ensuing chaos to slip away to a hidden bench behind the church.

  Relief filled her at finding it empty.

  She sat and allowed the serenity to wash over her and heal her wounded heart. This place had always been one of solace and peace in times of trouble but today her misery would not be silenced.

  Sitting there, she looked toward the heavens, seeing the North Star twinkling bright and felt a tear run silently down her cheek.

  Mariah wished then, wished with all her heart that Brandon and his family would one day be happy. She wanted more than anything to be the one to bring love and joy back into his life, but as much as she loved him, she could not make him return the feeling. Yet she still wanted it for him.

  Wanted him to find someone that he did love, someone who could bring him back to life. So she wished it for him. Wished it with every fibre of her being.

  "Please," she whispered to the night sky, "please just let him find happiness. Let him find peace."

  Mariah sat for a moment or two longer then, with a heavy heart, she stood to go and find her family.

  The village square was resplendent as it always was, festooned with holly and ivy and paper lanterns that the children in the schoolhouse had spent painstaking hours putting together.

  Everywhere she turned, Mariah was greeted warmly, and usually she would return the greetings with equal cheer. But she could not.

  She tried her best to go through the motions, but her heart wasn't in it.

  Her heart was firmly stuck at Greywood Manor with a man who didn't deserve it.

  As the day turned to evening, the hastily prepared dance floor started to fill. It was far too cold to be dancing outside but this had been a village tradition since before Mariah's birth. Usually she didn't feel the cold, since she danced every dance. This evening, however, she refused to dance even one.

  Mariah stood back and watched as children and adults alike danced and sang and had a marvellous time. She tried not to be bitter, but she envied them their cheerfulness. She wondered if she would ever feel happy again.

  "I believe you promised me a dance."

  Mariah gasped at the feel of a hand on her waist.

  She knew it was him, of course.

  Nobody else's voice set her pulse racing. Nobody else's scent set her heart hammering.

  She turned and looked up into his eyes.

  He looked so good she wanted to weep. There were circles under his eyes, as though he had been sleeping as badly as she, and he looked miserable, but she could only assume that this time of year was hard for him.

  And in spite of what he'd said, her heart still ached for him, and she wanted to make it better.

  "Where are your mother and Lottie?" she asked, hearing the wobble in her voice.

  "They're ensconced with Mrs. Yates, meeting the villagers and hearing the list of Mrs. Callahan's maladies."

  She tried to smile at his joke, she really did. But her mouth couldn't form a smile.

  "Please dance with me," he whispered.

  Mariah looked about and saw that they were drawing attention.

  Soon people would come falling over themselves to be introduced to the new man in town.

  So, nodding her consent, she allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor, all the while praying that she would have the strength not to cry.

  The strains of a quadrille started and Mariah shivered as his hand snaked about her, gathering her close.

  "You look beautiful," he said as they began to move.

  Mariah held herself as stiffly as she could because she wanted more than anything to sink into him, to beg him to love her even half as much as she loved him. But her pride wouldn't allow it and her pride was the only thing she had left.

  "You left," he said now, though there was no accusation in his tone, merely sadness.

  "I did," was all she said.

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they swept round the other couples. Mariah had never felt so alone in a crowd of people.

  "Lottie told me what she said to you. What she heard. Mariah, I – please believe me when I say I did not—"

  His words were cut off when Bobby Thornton, who had had far too much to drink, came stumbling into them trying his best to dance alone.

  Brandon muttered a soft oath, dropping her hand and stepping away. "For God's sake, I cannot talk to you here. Will you come back to the manor house with me? Please?"

  It was the plea that did it. In his words, in his voice, in his eyes. Mariah knew that she could not deny him anything.

  Without waiting for her to answer, he clutched her arm and practically dragged her to his carriage which was, thankfully, the last in a long line surrounding the church.

  Once inside, he placed a carriage run on her knees and then sat at the other side.

  The silence was suffocating but Mariah made no attempt to break it.

  What was she to say in any case?

  She could rail at him for not loving her back, but that wasn't his fault.

  She could beg him to consider her as a wife, but her pride wouldn't allow it.

  She could pretend that everything was fine but her heart wouldn't allow that.

  So, she said nothing and neither did he.

  The carriage ride seemed interminable, but at last they rolled to a stop outside the manor.

  The front of the house was ablaze with candles and it looked so welcoming, no longer unloved, that Mariah felt herself smile for the first time in days.

  Brandon stepped out of the carriage then held out a hand to assist. But after she alighted, he held onto her hand, not letting her pull away. It was an exquisite type of torture.

  As they stepped into the entrance hall, Brandon divested her of her cloak, gloves, and bonnet, explaining that the servants were all at the fete.

  They were alone.

  A thrill chased along Mariah's spine before she ruthlessly quashed it. What difference did it make?

  "Would you care for a drink?" he asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.

  "No, thank you," she squeaked, fairly shaking with nerves.

  "I want to show you something," he said before taking her gently by the arm and leading her toward the library.

  Mariah frowned. There was nothing he could show her in there that she hadn't already seen. She'd practically lived in the room for weeks.

  He opened the door and allowed her to step in before him.

  The first thing she noticed was the fire blazing in the hearth. Surely it was folly to have left it as such if everyone had planned to be away for the evening.

  But then, as her eyes adjusted she noticed that it had been decorated for Christmas. Every available surface was covered in boughs of holly and ivy, with cheerful red candles dotted everywhere.

  I
t was beautiful, and she turned to tell him as much.

  Where was he? He had disappeared! Mariah frowned in confusion before her eyes travelled down and she gasped. He hadn't disappeared, merely knelt. He was on one knee before her.

  "Brandon, what—"

  "Mariah Bolton. I realise that since I have met you, I have been the most idiotic, ill-mannered brute that you'd likely ever met. I let you see the absolute worst of me. I have told you my darkest secrets, bared the blackest part of my soul. I do not deserve you and I likely never will. I don't deserve your loving heart, your generosity of spirit, your pure and innocent soul. But none of that stops me from wanting them. Perhaps it's selfish. Perhaps it's just madness. But the truth is that you stole my heart, a heart that I didn't even know could beat any longer. You stole it the day you patted me on the head, and I haven't wanted it back since. It's yours, battered and bruised as it is."

  Mariah couldn't speak, couldn't believe what was right before her eyes. She shook her head in wonder, the tears flowing freely from her eyes.

  She watched as a look of pure, raw pain sprang into his eyes, before they turned almost black with a sudden determination.

  "You shake your head," he said misconstruing what she meant, but before she could speak he had leapt to his feet and clasped her by the shoulders, "I do not blame you. Lord knows I have given you no reason to trust me, to love me. But I love you, Mariah. So much I can barely stand it. And I know I've handled things badly but please understand, it took me by surprise, and when my mother was asking me those things I – I was trying to protect you, dammit." Suddenly, he was yelling at her and it was so familiar that she almost laughed. "I know you deserve better than me. I tried to tell her as much. That's why I denied my feelings for you, why I refused to consider marriage. Because I wasn't ready for how I felt and I didn't want you to have to spend your days with someone as dark as I."

  He stopped shouting and his tone lowered, become gentler and more tender than she had ever heard it.

  "But that hasn't stopped me from loving you until I can't breathe. I don't expect you to love me back, but if you'll let me, I will spend every day for the rest of my life loving you so much you won't ever have to. Please, please, my darling, say you'll be my wife."

  As he drew to a halt, his breathing laboured as though he had run for miles, Mariah finally had the chance to speak.

  "Brandon, do — do you mean it?" She took a tentative step closer to him, hardly daring to believe this was real. "Do you really want to marry me?"

  "Of course I do," he said fiercely. "I adore you. But, it is selfish of me to ask. To tie yourself to such a man, to such a family. If people knew what happened, what Lottie was."

  "What is she? Only a well-loved and beautiful niece and granddaughter! And I would never allow anyone to say anything different."

  "I know you wouldn't, my little tigress. That's one of the things I love the most about you."

  He pulled her close and she went willingly.

  "Please," he whispered, "please put me out of my misery. Please be my wife."

  Mariah gazed up at him, hoping he could see what she felt for him in her tear-washed eyes.

  "I will. Of course I will. I love you so much, Brandon. So very much."

  The look of joy on his face was one she would never forget.

  She was sure she heard him mutter "thank God" before his lips found hers and she was utterly, completely lost.

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later

  "Merry Christmas, Lottie" Mariah bent to hand the child a giant parcel containing a much sought-after doll's house and doll. She couldn't wait to see her reaction.

  Standing back up, she pressed a hand to her abdomen. These blasted pains were becoming worse and they didn't seem to be disappearing as quickly.

  Brandon was at her side, quick as an arrow.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded.

  Mariah smiled and shook her head. "I told you five minutes ago, darling. I am fine. Truly. Now, come walk me to my library. I have your gift there."

  Mrs. Haverton, or Mother as she insisted Mariah called her, assured them that Lottie would be fine with her and they made their way to the library, Brandon holding her round the waist as though she were made of glass.

  "Brandon, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm pregnant, not sick."

  "Just indulge me, sweetheart, please" he said, bending to kiss her softly on the top of her head.

  Mariah sighed and capitulated, not least because she secretly loved how much he fussed over her.

  They entered the library and she felt the familiar feeling of home as they stepped inside. The previous Christmas, after his wonderfully romantic proposal, Brandon had told her that the library was hers. He had decided that he would keep it for her alone.

  "Either you would have consented to marry me and therefore enjoyed it any hour day or night," he had said with a charming smile that curled her toes, "or I would have used it to buy me some time to convince you."

  "You would have given it to me even if I'd said no?" Mariah asked shocked that something so precious and expensive should be hers.

  "Who else could it ever have belonged to?" he had asked.

  It was a good thing they'd already agreed to marry at that point because they anticipated their vows right there on the old chaise by the fireplace.

  Mariah could see now that Brandon was thinking of that day just as she was and she would have felt excited about it except the blasted pain was back.

  Suddenly, it hit her.

  Dear God, she was in labour.

  "Darling" she said, trying her very hardest to remain calm, "could you possibly ring for Dora and ask your mother to come in here please?"

  "Why, sweetheart?"

  "I don't want you to panic."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, just—"

  "Tell me. What is it? Are you sick? Is that it? Do you need to lie down? I'll carry you."

  He was becoming hysterical, which was exactly what she didn't want. Honestly, he was worse than a hormonal woman sometimes.

  "Brandon," she shouted and he stopped his dramatics. "Your child is about to arrive. Get Dora before you faint."

  Afterwards, they would argue about whether or not he had burst into noisy, tearful wails. Mariah was adamant that he had, Brandon quite fierce in his protestations that real men didn't wail.

  But one thing they both agreed on was that their daughter, Faith Daphne Haverton had made quite an entrance.

  Brandon had never asked why Mariah insisted on the name Faith.

  Mariah knew it was because she had had faith that her wish would come true. And it had.

  The End.

  FOR THE LOVE OF A LADY

  by Kristin Vayden

  PROLOGUE

  "Pardon?" Elise asked breathlessly as her heart pounded in her chest. He couldn't have said what she thought he had.

  Jefferson Markfield, Viscount of Trighton tilted his head in a familiar way. It should be familiar; after all, he was her betrothed.

  At least she hoped he was… a few minutes before she had been so sure about everything.

  Not anymore.

  Fear chilled her heart, making every heartbeat painful.

  He took a deep breath, drawing her attention to his shoulders and the way they rounded and tapered to his folded hands. "I simply wish to spare you any heartache. While it was certainly a brilliant plan at first, I don't see the continuation of our betrothal to be mutually beneficial any longer." He shrugged, as if he weren't crushing her hopes and dreams with every word. Taking a deep breath, he continued, but his posture shifted. "After all, it's not as if we are firmly attached. Better to end it now before it becomes too… involved." He leaned back on the stone bench, appearing utterly at ease and even pleased with himself. It was a strange contradiction. His actions spoke of indifference, but Essie was not fully convinced. "And since I wish to part ways as amicably as possible, I'll need you to cry off. You understa
nd. Neither of us wants to deal with the scandal of a breach of promise suit."

  Elise didn't know which part of his miserable speech was more painful. The fact that he had no attachment to her, or that he expected her to end it.

  As if it were her idea all along!

  Through with his current disposition, his idea was becoming rather attractive. Of course, she didn't have to agree with him. The banns had been read and the betrothal signed; she could hold him to his word and he'd have no choice but to marry her.

  But is that was she wanted? To force a man to marry her? To be forever trapped in a loveless marriage? Glancing down she willed the tears of anger and hurt to remain hidden. She wouldn't appear weak or heaven forbid, attached! What a folly! To be attached to the man one intended to marry.

  What utter rot.

  A betraying tear slid down her nose.

  "Essie, you always were so sensitive, I didn't want to hurt you so that's why I went along with it as long as I did." Trighton reached out and patted her shoulder. As if she were a toddler in need of reassurance. His patronizing smile made her blood simmer.

  It was maddening.

  She shrugged and his arm fell.

  How had she been so blind to not see this facet of his personality before?

  "There's no need to get in a snit over it," he replied with a clipped tone. She glanced up and wrinkled her brow at his sudden shift in behavior. He tugged on the cuffs of his gloves and nodded. "And this is why we will not suit. You're simply too… emotional." He raised a daring eyebrow, as if it were obvious.

  Essie felt her aching heart begin to seethe with the burning coals of anger at his callous and arrogant attitude. Narrowing her eyes she rose from her seat on the firm stone bench. "I most certainly will cry off. In fact, I thank you for calling to attention the various flaws in your character that I so foolishly overlooked. Now, if you please I wish for you to leave, now." She placed her hands on her hips, heart beating fiercely as Trighton squared his shoulders and stood as well. He wasn't much taller than she, but made up for his stature with a now noticeable dose of arrogance, but Essie refused to be intimidated.