by Gayle Eden
“I brought this from father.” Alex came to the vanity, laying an open case with diamond necklace upon it. “Don’t ask me where he got it or how. You know father—he has his ways.”
Smiling, Val reached for it, putting it on and mentally shaking her head at the perfect fit and compliment for her gown. Her father knew women, had wonderful taste, and slyly had managed to—over birthdays and holidays—bestow on her jewelry she’d refused when she’d first came to live with him. The necklace was new, but there were dozens of pieces he had added to her jewel box over the last year.
She glanced up, meeting Alex’s sherry gaze. Dressed in one of her “Countess” gowns, as Alex called them, that Edmund or the duchess picked out, Alex was quite lovely and quite the sophisticate in gold brocade with scarlet embroider on the bodice and sleeves. It had a fan like collar in back that gave it a hint of Elizabethan.
“I’ve some advice for you,” Alex said while Jo braided Val’s hair, and wrapped it around her head regally before she fit in diamond pin. “You once had wise words for me, when I was so confused about my feelings for Edmund. I give them back to you. You have emerged this season, Val. Although you have always been a woman, both Jo and I admire. You have been changed; of course, you were, by what happened. However, that does not have to be who you are. It’s not who you are.”
Val slid her gaze to Jo, who secured a final pin and said, “She’s right. Despite the fact we’re all ignoring half what she says, because she's walking around in a lovers haze, since she and Edmund worked it out.”
Jo laughed when Alex elbowed her. She told Val though, “I have my own way of standing up to the ton, but you’ve got dignity, strength, the kind of poise I could never carry off. Though we admire that, you’ve also a sense of humor, a sense of family.”
Her hands landed on Val’s shoulders. “You’re not lost, Val. You are a whole woman. A beautiful one. And that Viking you’re getting ready to marry is a thousand times the man Leland was—even if he went behind my back and had Sascha—”
“Yes, yes.” Alex cut her off with an eye roll. “Now’s not the time to get your mind on Auttenburg, Jo. We’re here for Val.”
“Thanks.” Val reached back, taking both their hands. “I know it’s sudden, and unusual. I am positive that father explained the why—” She grinned at Jo, who wrinkled her nose. “I’ll be all right. I am all right.”
“I know you will.” Alex squeezed her hand. “And we’ll be there, around, here for you, after Van Wyc departs. It’s just that I want to say now, that no matter the why, or what you think is that—why—if you open your heart and eyes, you’ll see what the rest of us do.”
“And Van Wyc don’t show much a’ tall usually,” Jo muttered, getting another elbow from Alex.
“I’ve known him for some time. He knows more about me than I care for anyone to.” Val released their hands and stood. She smoothed her gown whilst looking at them. The maids were packing her trunks, books and belongings. “I would rather wed a friend, someone I owed so much too, than—”
Jo groaned. “Oh, dear….”
However, Alex retained her grin, a certain twinkle in her eye and murmured, “Yes of course. You are good friends. That’s a wonderful start.”
“He thinks more of you than a friend,” Jo said and then threw up her hands when Alex pinched her. “I’m off, so you can quit the eye rolling, Alex. You carry on with the subtly…”
When the door closed behind her Val told Alex, “I think we upset her.”
“No. That’s impossible.” Alex laughed. “Jo’s simply in a hurry for everything in life. She has no idea that passion does not answer everything. Marriage is work, communication, trust.” Alex shrugged. “I like the benefits, but it’s bloody not a cake walk getting there. I had to discover that myself.”
She took Val’s hand, squeezed it. They walked out of the room together.
Since there was not any formality to observe, they were going down the stairs, able to hear everyone in the study with the door open. However, Val, holding the hem of her dress, shot a panicked look at Alex and uttered, “Tell me I am not being unfair to him. Tell me that I—”
Alex shook her head. “He wants you. He wants you for wife, Val. Someday; you will understand this is not happenstance. You have everything to offer. You do not come to him empty. You’ll see.”
Gulping in air, trying to rid herself of nerves, Val reached the bottom of the stairs. She held to the mewl post and gathered herself. Raising her chin, breathing deep in and out, eyeing a smiling Alex, from the corner of her eye, she proceeded moments later, entering the study a tall, poised, mature woman, ready to become Mrs. Van Wyc.
I am a Marquis’ daughter. I am Alexander Ramsey’s daughter. I was strong before, and I can be again…
* * * *
It was the most formal Archard had been dressed since they departed London.
Though, not even there, did he wear the blue velvet and black dress jacket. His hair was tied back, a white embroidered silk shirt tucked in white snug trousers, polished black boots on; the jacket he had tailored for some to-do and never worn, a blue velvet with gold buttons. It reminded him of the formal velvets and whites he had to don to visit the “royal” cousins. It was not his favorite get up, but he did himself proud by wearing it to wed Val.
He took Valerie for his wife in a quick, simple, ceremony.
The moment he thought he would savor, that kiss, went too fast also, a mere brush of lips, and then came handshakes. Later, he would wish he had held her longer, kissed her fully…A formal dinner being served, the preacher invited, he was out of the clouds and on the ground enough to regret everything had gone too swiftly.
Val was a vision in her lavender gown, her hair twinkling with diamonds. He did not want to take his eyes off her. However, for the sake of politeness and not making her nervous, he partook of the meal and joined the conversations, noting Valerie did the same.
Despite having a few private moments with her that morning, he was feeling the tension of knowing he would leave soon after escorting her to Whitestone. Then, it would be months, long and busy months, away from her. Out of the country, not able to look, see, or hear her—away.
He had spent the past couple of days with the Marquis—Edmund and Adam, part of their conversations, talking of all he had to get done, and the challenges. Out of trust and necessity— Archard gave both Alexander and Edmund legal authority to oversee his business and see that Val and the households were taken care of in his absence.
He did not want Val to do without anything, and he was wealthy enough that whatever she wanted could be hers. Not that Archard thought she would want much, but anything could happen, and absence tended to cause problems on a business, unless someone was checking on things. Aside from all of that, he wanted to give her a life, married life, Leland never had. It was frustrating that he would not be able to start doing that until the coming spring.
Thinking ahead, scarcely sleeping, since he could do that once he left England—Archard had already gotten her wedding present, Christmas present, and birthday present. He would not be here to know if she liked them or not, but part of him wanted to remind her of him whilst he was away.
* * * *
Shortly, they were in the coach. No lingering embraces because she would see her family within the next few days. Archard accepted them from “the daughters” and bowed over the duchess’ hand. He got handshakes and backslaps, from the men— reminders to write from the Marquis, who was the closest friend Archard, had. They were men, opposites in some ways, who understood and cared for each other. Alexander was one of the first men to not look at his age or accent or anything else. They met and clicked—and the bond had grown stronger and stronger.
Rain started after dark. It was an hour before midnight when they reached Whitestone, thus little time could be given to admiring it, since lightening was flashing, and thunder rolling around them.
He helped Val out, holding her close to his side,
then bustling her towards the open door the butler held.
The staff all awaiting them, he introduced her. After staff bows and curtseys, the housekeeper took her above to change. Archard went to a guestroom and from a bag, he had brought, changed out of the formal clothing into his comfortable buckskin and linen, his burgundy boots—later carrying his long leather coat to the study.
Settled with a brandy before a fire, he wondered if she would join him for the few hours he had before he left. He hoped she would. Now that leaving her was upon him, he wished there were some way he could avoid going at all. Now that she was his wife, and…
There was not any avoiding it. He had obligations. He had responsibilities. He owed his family explanations.
Archard took a long drink, holding the glass then in his palm. He propped his boots on a low table. Gazing into the yellow flames, he tried to ignore the tick of the clock, vanishing the hours too swiftly.
All of his life was about time, much of it given to everyone and everything else. Once, he had been prepared to give his future over to it, whatever the expectation was.
Not now.
Not since, he had met Val.
It was the first time in his life he wanted something so intensely for himself. Cleaning up after Leland, being around him, had been difficult. Archard would rather have shot him and been done with it. He could not think of a man he detested more. Nevertheless, he stayed—because of her, for her. He paid money and bribes and cleaned up after Leland. How long, how many slow and painful days and weeks, did he hope, that one would be the day she would come to herself, and he could get her away.
He could not stand to think of how that had finally happened. The rage he felt with the memory always seeped through muscle, bone and skin, making him want to strangle Leland with his bare hands. Even after, he had gotten her away, and through everything else, as she emerged and was safe with her family—he still had to wait…
Would she ever see him—really see him? Would she ever turn to him…?
His fingers tightened on the glass, his eyes unseeing for a moment. This was not the way he had wanted to have her. Now she was his wife. He at least had that much.
* * * *
The bed was huge. The master chamber was—massive.
After the housekeeper departed, the maid came and helped Val out of her clothing and into her robe and slippers. She took her hair down, simply tied it back and left it to fall in ripples down her back after a good combing.
She replied a no, thank you, to food or refreshment. The maid left her. Standing there by the windows, lightening flashing across the room, which was warmed by a fireplace at the end, Val realized the beams and plaster, the clean lines and furs—a distinct style to the room—was deliberate. It was a room that Archard had obviously designed and had decorated.
She walked around, eyeing a lush fur rolled at the end of the down covered bed. Further, hand carved wardrobes in light wood. Small things caught her view, the detailed clock on the mantle, the simple lines of the chaise and chairs in the sitting area. A quick look into a curtained off bathing area showed shelves holding towels and soaps, oils, and the like, a bench and tub, again very clean lines and soothing hues.
Walking softly back through, it was that clock ticking, which reminded her Archard would depart in a matter of hours. She slipped out of the room, interested in the house, the lay out, and admiring what she saw, but reminding herself she’d have plenty of time to explore.
The hallway leading to the landing and stairs was lit enough to traverse without needing a candle. Hand on a polished rail; she went below, hearing off to the darker side of the house, the subtle sounds of servants. She took the left, guessing rightly some “gentleman’s study” or library would be situated there. A light shone under a set of heavy doors. The latches moved smoothly in her hands and she slid them back enough in their pockets to enter.
Just a quick scan over the room, lightening flashing through tall windows, and she spied shelves, a desk, comfortable chairs. Drawn to the lit hearth and warm amber glow, she walked in whilst spotting Archard, who had heard her entry and looked around—watching her.
“Brandy?” he offered, holding his glass aloft.
“I’ll get it.” She waved and went to the sideboard, pouring a finger and then carrying it with her to set on a chair angled toward both him and the fireplace. “Terrible night to be traveling. I hope it eases up by morning.”
He nodded. She suspected that like herself he was watching the play of firelight over her features. His light gaze lingered a little long on her hair, her face. The robe was lavender, pleated at the waist and flannel. It buttoned up to a point mid breast and she normally wore a chemise or gown under it. She had not consciously left that off this night, she had simply been preoccupied.
Nonetheless, Val was suddenly aware of her full curves and the tops of her breasts feeling the heat of the fire. Even though when Archard’s gaze dropped that far, they moved swiftly away and he stared into the fire—she knew he had noticed them.
Taking a warming sip of the brandy, she resisted the urge to jerk the material up. He had seen her body. No. She did not want to think of that. She did not want to go back to that place. Besides, it was not that kind of exposure she felt. Rather that he was such a masculine man. He made her more vividly aware of how generous her womanly parts were. He made woman, the word, the fact that she was, seem more applicable.
She was guilty too, while she sipped, of watching the illumination play on his high cheekbones and whitish mane he tucked behind his ear. His honey skin, the side of his sinewy neck, that profile, warmed to the light also.
Every line of him was raw male, not just the Nordic bones of his face, but the breadth of shoulders and chest in that simple shirt, the muscles of those long legs in snug leather, that she traced to the boots he propped on a stool.
Her gaze went next to the long fingered and strong hand, the bowl of that glass resting in the palm of one, near his thigh, his other hand on the chair arm. Up to his face, lips—that were sensual no matter how she tried to ignore it. Semi full, light peach. Even at a brush during the ceremony, like soft velvet, she remembered the slight shock and tingle during that brief contact. It was so unexpected. She recollected a similar reaction in the coach that time, only then, he had grazed his tongue over her lips too. An inward shiver ran through Val. She’d never felt that kind of sensation before.
The sound of the storm and crackle of the fire did not banish that feel of silence, so she said, “Shouldn’t you sleep a few hours?”
“I’ll sleep aboard ship.” He raised the glass and drained it. Getting to his feet, Archard took the glass to a tray and then returned to his seat, but slightly to the side now, his gaze touched hers. “Write to me. I’ll want to know how you are, how everyone is.”
She nodded.
“The steward, servants, they will see to everything. You’ve coaches and your own mount and anything you need will be provided.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at her. “Don’t thank me. You come and go as you please. Pursue your interests and visit whom you please. When I return, I am sure we will blend our lives as well as having separate interests. When it comes to social obligations or pleasures, I will escort you. If you are interested in viewing the properties with me, the farms or tenants, whatever you wish, you’ve only to say so.”
Val nodded again. She wanted to be a wife and partner to him. She owed him much.
“I enjoy being around your family. Your father is my friend. If my brother or any of the family visit or if he returns with me, I will give you time to prepare for it. I want you to live your life, Valerie. To enjoy it. You like books, painting, riding, and walking, sports. You enjoy many things, with and without your sisters. Marriage will not limit that, just the opposite I hope. Only be sure you’ve an escort and that someone knows where you are.”
“He’ll come back. Won’t he?” Val meant Leland, and was aware that he knew that was who
m she spoke of.
“He will cause trouble wherever he is and eventually run out of places to flee. His mother is not well. The funds ran out years ago. The last I heard from her, she had gone to live with other family. The house sold.” His gaze flickered to the fire then back to her, his jaw hard. “I won’t give him a penny more, nor clean up his messes now that we are wed. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She was not afraid of the hardness in his eyes and face, though anyone who did not know him would be.
“He won’t like it. He will not like that we are wed. He will be furious the funds are cut off. He is just self-centered enough to imagine he is owed upkeep. I’m leaving him to pay for his own sins.”
“I knew you would.” She flickered her gaze away. Finished with the brandy, Val sat the glass on a table by the chair. Peeking back at Archard, she murmured, “You’re telling me he could seek me out, threaten me. Even had we not wed? Trust me, it has crossed my mind from the moment I stood up for myself and got free of him.”
“You’ll be well looked after.”
She did not doubt he had hired some brawny grooms or footmen. She did not think Archard would leave without making sure she would be protected. Even though her father never mentioned it, she knew that he too always had hired men looking out for her. Not that Leland was brave or apt to take on a man. Still, it made them and herself, feel better.
“If it is any consolation, I do not fear him. I can shoot. I can defend myself with weapons. And words that used to cut me coming from him, wouldn’t affect me now.” She let him see the truth in her gaze. “It’s his unpredictability, instability, and complete selfishness that needs considering.”
“Yes. Good.” Archard nodded. He sat up slightly, forearms on his spread thighs and gazing at the floor before he added, “Val, I—”
“You’re a good man, Archard. Very good to me.”
He surged to his feet, walking over to the mantle. Hands braced on it while he stared into the fire.
She felt his tension. “You are leaving. It is your wedding night. I—feel, as if I have taken—”