They walked there, their arms still about each other, and he shrugged out of his evening coat and spread it on the grass. She could not even remember those other times with Gregory—it had happened twice. But she did not want to remember. That was then and with the love of her youth. This was now with the love of her heart.
He loved her slowly and thoroughly after they had lain down together, his mouth and his hands caressing her through her clothing and beneath it while she touched him and felt all the warm, firm splendor of his man's body and all the wonder of knowing that they would spend the rest of their lives together. He did not unclothe her, only lifted her gown and removed essential items before unbuttoning the flap of his evening breeches and freeing himself. He came over onto her, cushioning her with his hands against the hardness of the ground, and when he entered her, he did so firmly but slowly, giving her time to adjust to the shock of the intimacy.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured against her mouth, And while she smiled at the extravagance of the word, she believed it too. She was neither pretty nor young, but at the moment she knew herself to be beautiful, for she was both lovable and loved and there was no better feeling in the world. Especially when she returned that love unconditionally and for all time. It did not matter that they had known each other for only a couple of weeks. It just did not matter.
He was a wonderful, skilled, patient lover. He took his time and gave her time while pleasure built to something that was almost painful and then burst into something beyond pain or pleasure while she felt him still and deep and hot in her and she shuddered into a relaxation more complete than any she had ever known.
"Ah, my love." His voice was deep against her ear.
"Mmm." She smiled.
They lay side by side, gazing up at moon and stars, dozing a little. An owl was hooting some distance away. There was the faint sound of music from the direction of the house. There was the soft lapping of water against the bank. Her fingers were laced with his again. The fingers of her other hand briefly touched the betrothal ring beneath the bodice of her gown, and she smiled a sad and final farewell to an old and precious love. Tonight she would remove the chain from about her neck. Tonight there was a new love, a new dream.
"It is going to have to be soon," he said, turning his face toward hers.
"Is it?" She had not even disentangled herself from her school yet. Reality was beginning to intrude.
"Georgette and Robert are going to be very impatient when they know we are betrothed," he said. "Not to mention ecstatic. And I might just have impregnated you, Eleanor. No, do not protest, as I suspect you are about to do, that you are too old. I would wager you are not. Most important of all, I do not want to wait and neither, I hope, do you. We may have the banns read here, if you insist, and wait a month. Or I will fetch a special license and we will marry within a week and you will come home with us. We will deal with your school together, or you may deal with it alone. But as a married lady, Eleanor. Tell me you choose the special license."
"Within a week?" She gazed into his face though it was in shadow.
"I know it seems an eternity," he said.
She laughed. "Are you always so impulsive?" she asked.
"No." She saw the flash of his teeth before he closed the distance between them and kissed her again. "Say yes."
"Yes," she said.
"We will tell your mother and sisters and the children in the morning before I dash away in pursuit of a license," he said. “Georgette may not stop talking until I return. I give you fair warning and apologize in advance."
"And I give you fair warning," she said, "that I will not stop listening to her and to Robert for a lifetime. Or loving them. I apologize in advance."
He slid his arm beneath her neck and turned her against him. "But tonight," he said, "I am selfishly delighted to have our happiness all to ourselves. I do love you, Eleanor. I would marry you twenty times over even if I had no children who needed you and schemed shamefully to get you."
"But once will be quite sufficient," she told him.
The moonlight had caught his face, and she could see the kindness, the happiness in his eyes and the curve of a smile on his lips. She gave him back the same look.
They were dreaming the same dream, she thought. Except that it was not a night dream. Rather, it was a life dream and would carry them through all the highs and lows of marriage and of life itself. She had never been more sure of anything in her life.
"I must get you back to the ballroom," he said.
"Yes."
But he kissed her again, and it was a full half hour later before an avidly curious gathering of relatives and friends were able to see that yes, indeed, there was a romance between those two.
Probably more than a romance.
Chapter 8
* * *
Five days after the birthday celebrations for Wulfric, Duke of Bewcastle, the grand medieval hall was again being set up for yet another banquet. This time the occasion was the wedding of the duchess's sister, Miss Eleanor Thompson, to Michael, Earl of Staunton. But the lavish breakfast would not be served until after the nuptial service in the village church and that would not begin for another half hour.
Wulfric awaited the appearance of his sister-in-law. Christine and Hazel and their mother had told him a few minutes ago that she was ready and would be down almost immediately. All three of them had looked a bit dewy-eyed as he had escorted them outside and handed them into the carriage that awaited them. They were the last of the guests to leave. The others had gone earlier, adults and children alike—all the children, even the babies, including Lady Caroline Bedwyn, Wulfric's own three-month old.
Eleanor had asked him if he would give her away at her wedding. The problem of which of her two favorite brothers-in-law she should ask was made considerably easier for her, she had explained, her eyes twinkling, after Charles had agreed to Michael's request that he co-celebrate the nuptials with the local rector.
Staunton had asked Wulfric rather late on the evening of the birthday ball to make the betrothal announcement. He had also asked, before the announcement was made, if the wedding could be solemnized here in the village church just as soon as he could fetch a special license and talk to the rector. The whole thing had been remarkably easy to arrange. The rector and his wife had been at the ball, and he had agreed with a hearty rubbing of his hands to officiate at the happy event at a moment's notice, provided the groom arrived at the church with the proper documentation and preferably with a ring for the bride's finger. He had been equally delighted to include the Reverend Charles Lofter in the service. And as for the rest—well, Christine was Wulfric's duchess. No more needed to be said.
Staunton had left Lindsey Hall at the crack of dawn the morning after the ball, having first woken his children to explain the situation to them. He had returned yesterday, early in the afternoon, and the assembled Bedwyns and their spouses and the Lofters and the other house guests, all of whom had stayed with the obvious exceptions of Lady Connaught and Miss Everly, had been informed that today would be the day.
When Eleanor stepped into the great hall and glanced about her at all the bustle of preparation and then looked at Wulfric, it occurred to him that she looked at least five years younger than she had the first time he had seen her. It was not that she was dressed like a blushing bride fresh out of the schoolroom. Indeed, he would be very surprised if he had not seen that blue dress on her more than once before. And her hair was not dressed any more elaborately than usual. The brim of her bonnet had been newly trimmed with what looked like fresh flowers, it was true, and she was carrying a small posy of matching flowers in one gloved hand. But it was none of those things that had stripped years from her age.
It was—indeed it had to be because Christine had told Wulfric so a number of times during the past few days, and he would not have dreamed of arguing with his duchess upon a matter in which she was a self-styled expert—it was, in fact, love.
A
nd though he looked upon his sister-in-law with his customary austere expression and with silver eyes that very rarely hinted at any warmth he might be feeling within, nevertheless Wulfric regarded her with affection and approval. A bride ought to be in love with her bridegroom, just as a groom ought to be in love with his bride.
He knew it from personal experience.
"You are looking very fetching, Eleanor," he told her, offering his arm.
"You are kind, Wulfric," she said. "My mirror tells me I will do—provided, that is, we proceed to the church without any delay before my flowers wilt."
It was the sort of reply he might have expected of her—though she proceeded to spoil the effect almost immediately. "Oh," she said, taking his arm and clutching it, "is it natural to feel so very nervous?"
He led her from the house to the waiting carriage. "I do believe," he said, "it would be quite unnatural not to."
* * * * *
The village church was quite respectably full though only two members of the congregation belonged to Michael. They were enough. Eleanor had expressed concern about it and had offered to be patient and wait until all his relatives and any particular friends of his could be summoned. He had been unwilling to wait any longer, however. He had fallen unexpectedly in love and he did not want to delay any part of his future. His children had also fallen in love, and making them wait might have provoked a near mutiny.
Georgette was out of sight at the back of the church with the Duchess of Bewcastle and Mrs. Lofter. She was wearing a new pink party dress he had bought hurriedly in London, hoping it would fit her and be something of which she approved. He had been fortunate on both counts. She had a task to perform today. She was to walk down the nave of the church behind Eleanor, and she was to stand beside her during the service to hold her flowers and her gloves.
Robert, dressed in his new clothes, was seated against Michael's side in the front pew. Mrs. Harris had plastered his hair to his head before they left the house, but by now it was its usual blond fuzz—rather like a halo. Robert too had a task to perform. Michael had dispensed with the offices of a best man. His son would stand beside him and hand him the ring when the time came. Strangely, it had not seemed to occur to Robert to be nervous about it or to fear that he might drop the ring.
"When will Mama come?" he asked in a loud whisper. "Will I be able to call her that soon, Papa?"
"Very soon," Michael said as a slight bustle at the back of the church heralded the appearance of Lofter and the rector, who gave the signal for the congregation to stand. The organ struck a chord.
And she came toward him along the nave, her arm drawn through Bewcastle's. And Michael, far from feeling nervous, felt a rush of gladness that a certain thunderstorm had stranded them together at the same small inn three weeks ago—was it really no longer ago than that?—and that Georgette had invited herself to take tea with Eleanor in the dining room. It was true that they would have met anyway and spent two weeks at the same house party here, but would they have made the connection if it had not been for that storm? Would the children have made the connection?
She looked familiar, beautiful, dearly beloved, and he felt himself smiling warmly at her even as she smiled at him.
Robert, he could feel, was clutching one of the tails of his coat. Georgette was peeping around Eleanor and beaming at him.
They turned together to face the clergymen. And so it began—their new life together, a new dream to replace the old. No, not to replace it—to add to it. For they had both sincerely loved before and they had both suffered loss. They had both mourned and would forever remember. But now, today, there was another dream to promise present and future happiness.
* * * * *
Nervousness fled as soon as Eleanor stepped inside the church and saw Christine and Hazel awaiting her there and Georgette, her face alight with excitement. She was actually jumping up and down on the spot, her pink froth of a dress notwithstanding.
"I am going to hold your gloves and your flowers," she said, "and I am not going to crease the gloves or crush the flowers or drop anything, and I am—"
Eleanor cupped her face with her hands and kissed her.
"I know, sweetheart," she said, recognizing terrible nervousness when she saw it. "But it would not matter dreadfully even if you did do any of those unspeakable things."
And then, as she made her way along the nave on Wulfric's very sturdy arm and saw Michael waiting for her, looking immaculate and elegant in black and snowy white, it was the happiness and the kindness in his face that struck her more than anything else. She had never in her life done anything more right than what she was doing now, she thought. She had never been happier—and she was not even married yet.
Robert, clutching one of the tails of his father's coat, was peering around his leg, his eyes wide, his hair wild and adorable.
And then the nuptial service began, and while Eleanor was still trying to concentrate upon and savor every single moment of it, it was over and Charles, beaming kindly from one to the other of them, was informing them that they were man and wife. Eleanor thought she might well burst with happiness.
"Papa," a whispered voice asked, "may we call her Mama now?"
The congregation laughed—and applauded. It was an astonishing moment. Applause inside a church at the conclusion of a solemn ceremony? Michael bent down and scooped Robert up with one arm, and Eleanor wrapped an arm about the shoulders of Georgette, who had moved up close beside her.
"You may," she said softly, looking from one to the other of the children as Michael set his free hand on his daughter's head. "Oh, yes, indeed you may."
And they went off together as a family with their chosen witnesses—Wulfric and the Earl of Ravensberg—to sign the register. And then they were back inside the church and walking up the nave, smiling from side to side at their guests gathered there, and Eleanor knew that this was without any doubt the happiest day of her life, as a woman's wedding day ought to be.
"Oh—trouble," she said without any great surprise as they emerged from the church into bright sunshine and looked along the winding path of the churchyard to the gates and the gathering of numerous villagers beyond them. But within the gates and beneath the shade of the great elm tree that hung over the path, waited the Bedwyn men and the spouses of the Bedwyn women and a few of the other male house guests and some of the older children too. They all clutched fistfuls of flower petals, which were soon raining down upon the bride and groom and their children.
"It would be mean-spirited," Michael said, "to saunter along the path as though we did not mind or even enjoyed the experience, would it not? Shriek, Georgette. Roar, Robert. Take my hand, Eleanor, and prepare to dash."
They broke into a run, laughing helplessly as they went while Georgette obligingly screamed and Robert giggled and clung to his father's neck.
The ordeal was not over when they were through the gates, of course. The open barouche, decorated festively with flowers and ribbons, also bore all the old, metallic paraphernalia that Eleanor remembered from other people's weddings. As soon as the carriage was in motion, the noise would be deafening. Now the noise was only joyful. There was the sound of people calling out and laughing, and the church bells were pealing out the news of a new marriage.
They settled in the barouche as the congregation—or what was left of it—began to spill from the church. They were all on the same seat, Robert on Eleanor's lap, Georgette squeezed between her and her father.
"Lean back for a moment, Georgie," Michael said, spreading one arm over the back of the seat as the barouche rocked into motion. And he leaned across his daughter and kissed Eleanor on the lips and smiled into her eyes.
The bells pealed joyously, the guests and the villagers cheered the kiss—and an unholy din blocked it all out. His smile turned to laughter as Eleanor laughed back at him and Robert clapped his hands over his ears and Georgette threw back her head and whooped at the summer sky.
THE END
> Dear Reader,
May, 2016, will see the publication of Only Beloved , the seventh and final book of the Survivors' Club series. Five men and one woman, variously wounded in the Napoleonic Wars, spent three years together at Penderris Hall in Cornwall, home of the Duke of Stanbrook, recovering from their wounds and forging a lifelong friendship and support group with the duke and one another. During the following years, each adjusted to a life that had changed beyond recognition, and each found love and happiness. Now, in the seventh book it is George, Duke of Stanbrook’s turn. He gave of his home, his time, and his very self for the others, but now he is alone and lonely and restless. He did not fight in the wars, but his only son did and lost his life—and his wife committed suicide a few months later. George is not sure life can offer him any future happiness, but he surely deserves his happily ever after.
Dora Debbins first appeared in Only Enchanting , Book 4 of the series, as the heroine’s older sister. Dora had given up her youth and her own chance for marriage and happiness in order to bring up her young sister after their mother ran away from home with a lover. When Agnes married one of the Survivors, Dora was left to her quiet, solitary life as a music teacher in a small village—and to her memories of a few glorious days when she met and fell in love with the Duke of Stanbrook. She does not expect ever to see him again. But she too surely deserves some happiness of her own.
George does remember Dora, and he makes a sudden, impulsive decision to travel into the country to see her again. Below is a brief glimpse of what happens when he arrives there. Dora has just returned home to her little cottage after a day of teaching private pupils, and she is weary. All she wants to do is sit alone in her sitting room and enjoy a cup of tea.
Enjoy the excerpt—and the book.
Mary Balogh
Once Upon A Dream Page 10